


Legacy

by HannaSedai



Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Episode: s01e12 Apprentice Part 1, Gen, apprentice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:12:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 102,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7334503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannaSedai/pseuds/HannaSedai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apprentice AU. On the eve of his twenty-first birthday Dick Grayson participates in a botched contract that leaves the wrong person dead. As Slade tries to minimize the fallout events begin spiraling completely out of his control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Bruges

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I mostly wrote this for my own amusement and heavily debated with myself if I was going to post this, as I've been wanting to retire from fanfiction. But after watching the Breaking Bad finale I just had to get this plot bunny out of my head. This fic is written in the spirit of dark and gritty crime stories. All references to crime movies/ TV shows/books/comic books are intentional. 
> 
> Will be updated frequently.

Part 1:

Los Hombres Están Muertos

"Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father

Run for your children, for your sisters and your brothers.

Leave all your love and your longing behind

You can't carry it with you if you want to survive."

-"The Dog Days are Over," Florence and the Machine

Chapter 1: In Bruges

-SW-

Bruges, Belgium

In a desperate act of camaraderie, Slade decided buy his apprentice a drink at a local bar. The kid was old enough now, and that was what friends did.

Bruges was a nice city. Slade and Dick had hurried over the border just last night to escape the authorities, and neither of them had gotten much sleep. Today, though, Slade decided that he wouldn't bother leaving Europe. He knew that the police were still looking for them, but after last night's fiasco Slade made sure to cover their tracks extra carefully.

In earlier years Dick would have demanded to know where they were going, but now he simply didn't care, which frustrated Slade. Did he even know that he was in Bruges? Slade would have loved to come to Europe at his age, and to such a beautiful Belgian city.

Instead of spending that night inside the safe house, Slade decided that they needed to go out into the city. As most of the tourist attractions were closed by the evening, there was really nothing else for them to do than go out and have a drink. Slade needed one. Last night's contract rattled him as well as Dick, even if he did not mention it to his apprentice.

Slade bought two drinks and moved through the crowd in the bar, finally spotting his apprentice through a window. Dick stood outside of the bar in the cold, his collars upturned to keep his reddened ears warm. He didn't talk to anyone and stayed just outside the circle of light emanating from the inside of the bar, leaning against the balcony that looked out at the city skyline.

"Hey, I just remembered that it's your birthday," Slade said. "Why don't we drink to it? You're twenty-one. Now that's something to celebrate."

Slade set down Dick's glass, a tall pint of Belgian beer he was sure the kid would like. Dick turned his head to look at him, cigarette smoke curling out of the corners of his frown. To Slade's surprise, Dick dropped a lit cigarette into his glass.

"If you're going to buy me a drink, at least have the decency to get me the good stuff."

Slade held out his hand. "Give me the rest."

Without another word Dick reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"What did I tell you about smoking?" Slade demanded.

"Don't do it."

"Smoking is a destructive behavior. Don't start."

"You don't like it because it reminds you of Adeline."

To Dick's surprise, as well as Slade's, Slade found himself slapping Dick so hard that the sound caused people to turn towards them. Dick held up a reassuring hand to the onlookers, his expression never changing as he rubbed his cheek. The younger man's eyes glinted deviously, as though he knew he had hit a nerve. People eventually looked away and conversation resumed.

"Now…" Dick said slowly, "where did that come from?"

Why did Slade hit him? For disrespect, certainly, but Slade had allowed Dick to get away with smarter comments the past year. Perhaps Slade too was on edge from their botched contract the night before, and the slight against Adeline had set him off.

"I never told you that she smoked," Slade said huffily.

"You don't hide secrets as well as you think you do."

The mercenary had never intended to tell Dick about his private life before he decided to take on an apprentice, but he had accidentally slipped to Dick that he used to be married. Slade must have mentioned it when he was lecturing Dick on the dangers of romantic relationships in their line of business.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," Slade said. "You know better than to mention her."

"You're not sorry."

"How can you possibly know that?" Slade looked out to the city skyline. Though it was the first day of spring it was chilly tonight. "You're not a child, but you still need to grow up."

"You're one to talk."

Slade looked away. "Why are you acting like this? You haven't behaved like this in years." Slade lowered his voice, though it was no less venomous. "Stop acting like a child."

"You're the one who slapped me. Maybe you're the child here, Slade."

"You could leave now. You always had the chance to leave. Stop wasting my time with insults. What are you waiting for?"

"Honestly, Slade, it's a waiting game for me. Because that's all I can do now: wait. Wait for you to make a stupid decision. Wait for you to get killed on a contract. Because eventually, if someone doesn't murder you, then you're going to get caught. I was a hero long enough to know that. And truth be told, I don't even care if I'm arrested along with you, because I can't stand to see you getting away with this."

Dick took out another cigarette from an inside pocket and stuck it in his mouth, although he did not light it. A sudden thought struck Slade, a thought that he hadn't considered for a long while. No matter how often Slade thought of Dick as a child, he was certainly no longer one. So many times Slade had told him over and over again that Dick was his successor, and that one day he would have the skills to take over Slade's job. But even now, even when Dick was now twenty-one, Slade still treated him like an untrustworthy associate. He could no longer slap Dick around like he used to. Even hitting Dick just then was a bad idea. Dealing with a teenaged apprentice was so much different than dealing with an angry young man at his physical prime.

Perhaps it was strange to Slade because he had not expected Dick to carry his bitterness with him throughout the years. Certainly these last few years had been difficult, as Dick's emotional problems nearly brought the apprenticeship to a standstill, even after Slade knew that he had won. Most days Dick obeyed him without question. Yet there was always one word, one task, one bad day that would make him angry again. Slade had learned over the years that he could not respond with an explosion of anger of his own, and that some days Dick just had to be left alone. And, here and now, Slade did not dare rip that cigarette out of his mouth.

"Now you're just being annoying," Slade said. "Is this because of last night's contract?"

Dick threw back his head, strangled laughter escaping his mouth. "Five years later and you're still asking me that. You're a real piece of work."

Although Dick shrugged it all off, Slade could tell by Dick's tone that, yes, their last job troubled him greatly. Slade hadn't planned it that way—how could he have known what would happen?

"At least I'm asking you how you feel."

"'At least'?" Dick merely looked at him, his blank expression somehow emphasizing every tired line in his face. "You think a trip to Bruges would make me happy? Make me forget that you—"

"Everyone should visit Bruges before they die. I thought you'd like that."

The kid turned to leave. "Fuck off."

"Hey!" Slade raised his hand, as though to strike Dick again, but he stopped himself. The kid was just trying to goad him. It wasn't worth it. "Watch your mouth."

Everything about Dick—from the way his shoulders slouched to his expression of complete apathy—told Slade that nothing he said would get through to him. Not when he was in this mood. Dick leaned back, surveying Slade quickly, trying to determine if Slade would dare hit him in public again. To Slade's relief, Dick slouched and glared at him. "Fine. I will. Not like it matters."

"No, it doesn't matter," Slade said. "But when you're around me I expect respect. You know that."

"It's my twenty-first birthday and I don't even want to go out and get drunk. It's not even worth the hangover." Dick saluted him sarcastically. "I'll see you back at the apartment. I'm done."

-DG-

Safehouse

Bruges, Belgium

The safehouse in Bruges was a lot nicer than many of the others Slade had in his inventory. It actually had nice furniture and Internet. Not that Dick used the Internet anyway—his laptop and cell phone had several restrictions on them to prevent him from contacting any person he actually wanted to talk to.

For this weekend in Bruges Frannie—one of Slade's contacts—joined them. Like always, Dick didn't like spending time in the safehouse. He secretly wished that the police would burst in one day, though he didn't want to kill any policemen.

He looked over at Slade and Frannie, who were talking over drinks at the living room table. Slade had come back to the apartment a few hours after Dick did, and Slade was noticeably intoxicated. How strange—during the first years of the apprenticeship Slade never got intoxicated, but now he seemed careless. Dick didn't care. Slade took care to hide the controller whenever he did decide to become intoxicated. It was likely back in the States with Wintergreen, completely out of Dick's reach. At this point, however, the controller didn't matter, as Dick was so entrenched in this nasty business that he was beyond redemption.

"I'll be outside on the balcony," Dick said quietly. "If that's all right with you."

Slade and Frannie looked up at him, as though surprised to see him there. Frannie frowned, as though she thought it strange that Dick still asked for permission to move around the house.

"Yes, that's fine," Slade said, waving him away. "Just keep the curtains open."

Why? You afraid I'm going to jump off the ledge?

Well, there was no point arguing. It was getting late, though he didn't feel tired at all. No one had told him to go to bed, though at this point he really didn't need anyone telling him anything. He was expected to follow the habits ingrained within him during these past five years.

He supposed that Frannie was all right. She was one of Slade's contacts from way back when, and seemed to know him well, judging from the way they chatted over tumblers filled with expensive whiskey. When Dick and Slade arrived in Europe they immediately went to her. It was too much to hope that she would help him, after all she had been through with Slade.

Dick barely looked up as the old woman opened the sliding glass door and sat next to him. "It's your birthday?"

"Yeah."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"It's your twenty-first birthday and you're stuck in here with us old farts?"

"It's not like I've been celebrating my birthday the past five years anyway. Where's Slade?"

"Brooding in his room. Not sure if he's turned in for the night. Probably not." Frannie paused, her smile twisted with amusement. "You're not even going to sneak out and get laid? You're a good-looking young man. There are lots of young Belgian ladies out there who'd love to have a piece of you."

Dick merely looked at her. They stared at each other for a good long while before he turned his attention back to the city skyline. He heard her get up from her chair, open the door, open a cabinet, and heard the chink of glasses. Dick knew long before she came what Frannie was bringing back with her.

"Have a drink?" she asked.

He glanced at the bottle. It was the forbidden stuff. The amber liquid, the expensive stuff that Dick never drank because Slade never let him.

"No thanks," Dick replied, holding up a hand. "I don't need it."

"Oh, I think you do." Frannie poured him a glass. "Take it. I insist."

Slade's words—the ones he said when Dick first met Frannie—came to mind: treat her as though she were Slade, or even Wintergreen. She was on top of the totem pole. Why the hell not? Dick took the glass and murmured a low thanks.

"Happy birthday, kid," Frannie said, clinking her glass with his. "Maybe next year you'll do something crazy."

He took a drink with her and spluttered. The stuff burned down his throat, and then settled warmly into his chest. How could people drink this stuff with a straight face?

Frannie opened a box of cigars and leaned in close to whisper. "You can have a smoke as well. He's not watching."

How much did Slade tell her about the night before? She handed him a cigarette lighter, though she took it back gently when his fingers shook too much for him to light it. Frannie lit the cigar for him and stowed the lighter away in her chest pocket once she had also lit her own.

Dick hadn't meant to start smoking, but lately he just didn't care and pinched a pack whenever he could. Smoking was strangely therapeutic, though the cigar tasted bitter. Every time Slade caught him he was punished for it, but as time went on Dick realized that he could push his limits slowly, and eventually make Slade not care so long as he did whatever he was told to do. He coughed, but after a few tries he learned not to inhale the smoke. Frannie chuckled and leaned back in her chair. "You're ok, kid."

An uncomfortable quiet crawled between them. Dick had never had a private conversation with Frannie, and he didn't know how to talk to her. Would she relate the whole conversation with Slade, or would she keep everything a secret?

"You're aware of our arrangement?" he asked quietly.

Slade liked to lie about their relationship, even to the people in his network of contacts. Unless Dick asked those contacts directly, most of the time he had no idea if they were aware that Dick had no desire to be there at all. Best to know if Frannie knew before they continued talking.

"The extortion? Sure, I know about it."

"And you don't think there's anything wrong with it?"

"Guess what, honey, I know for a fact that Slade Wilson is fifty shades of messed up. What's his business is his business, and in the end I can only advise him."

The combination of alcohol and nicotine calmed him. For the first time in months he felt relaxed, though deep down he knew that nothing was okay, and that this extraordinary calmness was only temporary. He closed his eyes as he exhaled cigar smoke, enjoying how wonderful the cold night air felt on his skin.

"I still don't want to be here."

"I know." She reached out and turned his face gently towards the light. "He hit you again."

Hearing her say that so bluntly made him wrench his head away. "That's nothing. Then again, I don't think mentors are supposed to hit their charges."

Twenty-one years old and Slade was still treating him like this. Incredible. Perhaps he needed that drink after all.

"Slade has told me many things, Dick, as has Will. I know about the contract last night. Are you really all right?"

"Why do you care how I feel?"

No one else cares how I feel. Maybe they feel pity, but none of Slade's friends would help me. Not ever. Not when they're all in this together.

"People do care, even if they don't show it." Frannie sighed. "It's hard not to feel sorry for you."

"Tell me something, Frannie, tell me something that Wintergreen can't tell me: why does Slade bother with me at all? Even when I try to follow his orders I still mess up. I can't want to do what he asks me to do, no matter how much I delude myself. I'm a terrible assassin and he knows it."

"You have talent. Even I can see that, despite your past and your problems."

Dick took another long draught of his cigar. He had no idea if this was considered a good or bad cigar, but if Slade occasionally smoked these then Dick could take a guess at its quality. "From what I understand there are very few people who actually want to kill others. Most people only want the money, the benefits that come from killing people. That's what Slade wants: the money. But I don't want to kill people. I don't want money. I don't want prestige. I just want out."

Why was he telling her all of this? Dick didn't know. She was likely to relate everything he said to Slade. He knew that Wintergreen did.

He heard heavy footsteps, and then the sliding glass door sliding open. "There you are, Dick." Slade frowned. "You smell like smoke. Did you—?"

"Blame me, Slade," Frannie said. "I'm a bad influence."

Hah. It was worth smoking just to see Slade annoyed. Slade picked up the ashtray and shoved it in Dick's face. "Put it out. Now."

As Dick obeyed, Slade glanced over at Frannie as though to say, "you see? Can't trust him with anything."

"I guess you two need some time alone," Frannie said, getting up from her chair. "I'll be inside if you need anything."

Slade took Frannie's recently vacated chair. Dick drained the rest of his glass before Slade could take that away too. Slade glared at him, looking as though he wanted to reprimand him for drinking and smoking, but then his face softened.

"I know you're upset about our last contract. I'm sorry. I didn't know about the child. I already wired the money back to our client. Everything's been sorted out as best as they can be."

It wasn't the first time a child had been involved in their contracts. Sometimes the men Slade was hired to kill were also keeping children captive and, even considering Dick's predicament, were far terrible people than Slade was. At the very least Slade was a man of his word and did not hurt Dick beyond what was necessary. Slade kept his word: the Titans had not yet been murdered. Those kind of contracts really put things into perspective. Things weren't so bad for Dick as they were for other kids. Really, except for the killings, things were as okay as they could be with Slade Wilson.

"I know you're upset with me," Slade said, "and you have every right to be. But there's no need to tell me to die already."

"You and I both know that I've been thinking that for a while."

Dick had had enough of Slade's bullshit. By now he had learned to ignore most of Slade's lies and only paid attention to the orders that mattered. Although he had spat those words out of spite, he knew that Slade would punish him somehow for his disrespect.

"Why don't you try asking me what I want instead of assuming?" Dick asked.

"We've had this conversation a million times—"

"And we'll have it a million times again until you listen to me."

Their arguments, while occasionally violent, were getting increasingly less so. Dick noticed that Slade was becoming more reluctant to hurt him. He had difficulty remembering when they last tried to pound each other to pieces in a full-blown fight. Not that it mattered, since Slade could still beat the crap out of him.

"Whatever." Slade got up from his chair. "I'll leave you alone tonight. I'm angry about the child as well, just so you know. No need to be upset at me, because I didn't know."

"Fine."

"You could have gone out, you know."

"I don't care enough to go out. I'd rather drown in the canal than celebrate anything tonight."

Slade glared at him. Now Dick was pushing his limit. Any more smart comments and he would face immediate consequences.

"Good night," Slade said, rather gruffly. "I'll see you in the morning."

Slade slammed the sliding door shut so hard that Dick heard Frannie scold him. Whenever Slade knew that children were involved he organized things carefully, if he also wanted to involve Dick. In those cases Dick never killed anyone, but he saved the children. Some part of him knew that Slade organized those contracts especially for him so that, in a bizarre way, he could still call himself a hero. That what they did was for a reason, and that all of the people Slade killed deserved to die.

Dick always saved the children. Except for last night. Last night a child had died, and it was all his fault.


	2. Chapter 2: Recuperating

**-DG-**

**Safehouse**

**Bruges, Belgium**

Dick could not fall asleep. He laid on his back on the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar bedroom, staring at the apartment ceiling. There were people still awake upstairs. He heard them shuffling around, their muffled voices speaking in rapid Flemish.

Violent memories tumbled in his mind, preventing him from falling asleep. What was the point? So long as he was awake he could control the memories. If he fell asleep he wouldn't be able to stop himself from screaming.

Dick got up heavily and stared into the darkness, his eyelids pregnant with weariness. After a moment he got up and went to the bathroom. He flicked on the bathroom light and looked into the bathroom mirror. He hadn't looked well in five years. His slightly sunken appearance wasn't due to the abuse or lack of sleep, but sheer mental exhaustion.

He filled a glass with water and drank, but his stomach still rebelled. Dick leaned over and vomited into the toilet. It was as though he wanted to purge his body from everything awful that had happened in the past forty-eight hours. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead and his arms trembled. He flushed the toilet and wiped away the sick from face with the back of his shaking hand.

"Dick?" The bathroom door swung open. "You okay?"

Dick had gotten used to Slade invading his personal space, but that didn't mean that he would ever get used to it completely. Something lurched in his stomach, and he leaned over the toilet to vomit again. The mercenary caught him and held him as he vomited, rubbing his back in soothing circles as if he were a sick child. "It's okay. I got you."

Dick vomited until he began dry heaving. When he spoke, it was with great heaving gasps that left him winded. "Go away."

"I heard you. I was in the living room. Couldn't sleep. Not like I could with you vomiting next door." Slade moved away to fill up his glass with water. "Here. Drink this and go back to bed."

It didn't take a genius to realize that Slade had been up drinking the entire time Dick was trying to sleep. Slade wasn't dressed in his pajamas and he reeked of alcohol.

"Why do you bother with me?" Dick asked, his voice shaking. "I'm more trouble than I'm worth."

Even when Dick tried, he knew that he was not the apprentice that Slade had expected him to be. He had hoped to demonstrate that he wasn't the best choice for the job, but his every failure seemed to encourage Slade to train him harder.

"In the end you always follow my orders. And truthfully, that's all that matters." The mercenary patted his shoulder reassuringly. "You'll be fine. Get some sleep."

Dick twisted his way out of Slade's grip. "Get the hell away from me."

He stormed out of the bathroom and back into the living room. Slade stomped after him, his voice rising angrily. "Why are you acting like this?"

"You can make me kill people all you want, but once a child dies then that's it. I'm through."

"Keep your voice down. You'll wake Frannie and the neighbors."

They looked up. The neighbors upstairs had stopped talking. Slade and Dick fell silent, as though waiting for the other to shout something stupid.

"We're not going to talk about this right now," Slade said.

"Then when are we?"

Slade bristled. "When this mess blows over."

"And when will it blow over, Slade? When will someone ever not want you dead?"

"Look, I'm just trying to help."

"Whatever." Dick made his way back to his room. "You're not my friend and you never will be. Get used to it." Dick slammed the door in Slade's face.

He rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to hold back his tears. Killing people who deserved it—fine. Dick could deal with that now. But let a child's death fly by him—that he couldn't allow. He had allowed so many deaths to stroll by him, but now he wanted to stop. For the first time in years he felt the urge to stop Slade again. Everything Slade made him do hurt someone else, and though he knew that Slade hadn't wanted the child hurt, he had allowed it to happen.

What was the point of it all? The Titans, Batman, everyone he had known before would have never wanted this for him. Dick didn't even want this life for himself. No point feeling sorry about himself, though. That wouldn't do anyone any good.

**-SW-**

**Safehouse**

**Bruges, Belgium**

Slade woke up with one hell of a hangover. His head throbbed painfully as he dragged his feet towards the small kitchen, where Frannie was already waiting with breakfast.

"Good morning," Frannie said. "Catch up on your sleep?"

"No."

"Seems like neither of you did. I heard a lot of shouting last night."

"It's nothing new."

Slade poured himself a cup of coffee and shoveled some eggs onto his plate. "Where's the boy?"

"Asleep. He's still upset. Probably will be for the next week. You've got that boy on too tight of a leash, Slade," Frannie said. "He's going to bite back, if he hasn't already."

"Oh, believe me, he has."

Slade stabbed his eggs. Finding new ways to annoy Slade was one of Dick's favorite pastimes. Every time Slade forbade something Dick turned around found something else to mock. While Slade accepted that this was part of the deal, he knew that he had to curb the boy's dark sarcasm and his temper.

"You need to give him some space," Frannie said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

Slade started eating. Being subjected to this conversation while suffering through a pounding headache wasn't his idea of fun, but Frannie was insistent.

"How many times has he fallen apart?" Frannie asked. "He seems a bit…unhinged."

"Really? In what way?"

"Well, I don't know him well, but anyone can tell that he's troubled. He's not taking this contract well."

"Why do you care?"

"You expect me to treat this boy as I treat you: like an old friend. I cannot do that if you continue to treat him like absolute shit."

"I don't treat him like shit."

The look Frannie gave him could have given him cancer. "He's twenty-one, for God's sake, and you treat him like he's eight. It's only a matter of time before he snaps and gets rid of you for good. Eventually he may fear for his life and sanity enough to do something stupid, with or without the Titans to hold him back."

"Come on, Fran, you know me better than that. I don't mistreat him."

Frannie raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Then start treating him like an equal." Frannie scowled. "You can start by fixing that clusterfuck of a contract."

Yes, even the great Slade Wilson made mistakes. He didn't know how he had missed the child during his research. This kind of carelessness would not happen again.

"You don't think I'm trying to help him? You sound like Will."

"It seems like you're running away to Bruges and drinking away your problem."

"I don't kill children. That's against my moral code. If I had known there was a kid I would have done things differently."

"Do you know who the child was?"

"A bystander. She wasn't related to our target."

"A victim?"

"I don't know. I don't want to know."

"How did she die?"

"An accident. Dick tried to save her, but…" Slade shook his head.

"Let him grieve, Slade."

"We don't have time to grieve." He looked at his watch. "Damn. He's not up yet."

Frannie put a hand on his arm. "See what I mean? You're controlling every minute of his schedule."

"He'll destroy everything I've worked for if I don't."

"That's no way to build trust."

"Old habits are hard to break."

"Still as stubborn as ever, I see."

Why was she looking at him like that? Slade didn't like it. He thought that Frannie would be the least judgmental out of all of his small group of friends, but maybe he was wrong about her.

"Why don't I wake him? He's been very polite to me, Slade. He won't be mad at me. And I must say that I'm impressed." Frannie sipped her coffee. "He's not a bad kid. You could have done worse."

"Yeah, I guess I could have."

  


**-DG-**

The next morning he picked at his breakfast. Frannie had the radio tuned to a German news station, as she could not understand Flemish. Dick only understood bits and pieces of it, as he had not yet mastered the German language.

"Eat," Slade said, nudging his plate.

"Not hungry."

Nothing seemed appetizing. Slade had already gotten up and eaten before him, and now the two adults were watching him closely, as though they expected him to blow up at any moment. Whatever for?

"You haven't eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours."

"I'm not hungry."

Dick pushed his plate away and set his head down on his folded arms.

"What do you want to do today?" Slade asked.

"It doesn't matter."

He knew why Slade was being nice to him: he didn't want to deal with another breakdown. After five years of mental conditioning, Slade was finally getting the hang of it. Dick suspected that the past five years were a trial-and-error period for Slade as well as him. He spent most of the early years bullying Dick, although as time went by Slade realized that he had to step back for a few hours—or days—to let Dick recuperate. Today seemed to be such a day.

"You're in Bruges and you don't want to do anything. How boring."

"I don't feel like doing anything."

"Why not?"

"Why are we still here?" Dick asked. "A child died, Slade."

"What do you want me to do?" Slade demanded. "Apologize? She's dead. Accept that."

"Accept it? Like I've accepted every single shitty thing you've made me do?"

"Watch your language. You've always had a choice."

"Don't pretend that you gave me a choice." Dick shook slightly as he sat there, his hands clenching into fists. "Stop pretending. Please."

Slade could live in his fantasy-land as long as he wanted to, but Dick was going to have none of that. Not anymore. If he was going to live this life, then he'd rather have the harsh reality. But Slade? He was a whole different story. Why did Slade keep accepting contracts? He seemed just as unhappy as Dick felt, sometimes. Neither of them had won, it seemed, in the end.

"You think I'm pretending?" Slade laughed. "I've been real about this from the beginning."

"I know you have, but you wrap everything up with lies. I can't pretend anymore." Dick's voice rose. "You let that little girl die—"

"Boys," Frannie said, rising her voice. "This is not the time or the place."

Hearing someone other than Wintergreen say that made them both shut up. Slade sighed and gestured for Dick to follow him.

"Where are we going?" Dick asked.

"Out." Slade threw him his coat. "Come on."

Sighing heavily, Dick pushed away his plate of food and followed Slade.

"I'll see you both tonight," Frannie said.

Slade grunted. Something about Frannie's tone made Dick pause in the doorway, and he briefly acknowledged her with a small wave.

The younger man followed Slade out of the apartment and onto the street, his pace slow enough to annoy the mercenary, but quick enough to keep up with him. He stuck his hands deep in his coat pockets, his expression blank, as usual.

"We're not training today or working on a contract," Slade said. "If you were curious."

Dick shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me."

They walked through the cobblestone streets, and as time passed Dick realized that they were sightseeing. Slade hardly ever went sightseeing. He was always too busy to do that sort of thing, but sometimes he tried. There was too much on Dick's mind for him to fully appreciate their surroundings. Everything seemed dull and uninteresting, especially in light of their recent contract.

Bruce always talked about taking him to Europe. As they passed a newsstands Dick scanned the headlines. Not that he understood Flemish—because he didn't—but sometimes the European papers talked about Bruce Wayne's charitable pursuits. Lately he hadn't seen anything about Bruce Wayne. Oh well. Maybe he would find something once they got back to the States. He didn't know why he tortured himself like that, but it got him something to look forward to.

"I thought it would be a good idea to take a walk around the city," Slade said as they stopped on a bridge. "I promise that we're not here on business."

"You always say that, but then we end up going somewhere on business."

"Even I need a break sometimes. Come on, it'll be fun."

"You say that about everything," Dick muttered.

Most of the morning was a blur for him, to be perfectly honest. He tried to block out all memories of his time with Slade whenever he could. No one passing by them knew just how messed up everything was, and Dick's blank expression did not betray the tumult inside him. Every waking moment, it seemed, was dedicated to reliving that awful contract. Every little girl that passed by them with her parents made Dick feel worse with each passing moment, and though he tried to block the memories, they eventually flooded through him.

  


Their contract was in some little city in France. Dick had already forgotten the name of the city because the detail, at the moment, was not important. What was important was that he get this contract done quickly. International contracts made Slade extra antsy. 

"He should be on your floor," Slade said through the communicator's in Dick's ear. "Once he's dead then we'll clean up and leave the country. I'd like to be done in a couple hours. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

Dick moved cautiously through the house. He held his gun up, ready to be fired at a moment's notice. He had gotten over his reluctance to handle guns four years ago. The more contracts he participated in the more he realized that he needed the gun to protect himself, since Slade gave him no other weapon.

"You gotta move," Slade said. "Our target is nearer you. I'm dealing with one of his henchmen right now."

Someone wept through a door. Dick opened it cautiously, and to his shock found a little girl sitting on the floor, tears falling down her face. She was too frightened to scream, though her eyes stared at the gun in Dick's hand. Dick knelt slowly and put the gun away, afraid of making her scream.

"Look at me," Dick said, shaking the child by her shoulders. "Please…"

She looked just as terrified of him as she did of the man holding her captive. But she looked at him as he tried to look at her reassuringly. There was no way he could try to smile.

"You can trust me," Dick said desperately. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help you."

The child screamed as gunfire rattled the building. Dick almost felt like screaming himself, but all his years of training told him that it would do nothing. Instead he allowed the child to clamp her arms around his neck.

"I told you to move!" Slade snapped through the communicators in Dick's ears. "Where the hell are you now?"

"I'm a floor below you in one of the rooms," Dick said, mentally referring to the blueprint Slade had made him memorize earlier. "There's a kid here, Slade!"

For once Slade was quiet. "What?"

"There's a kid here. In the basement. I need to get her out."

"She'll only slow you down. Leave her there until we have this sorted out."

"No, we need to get her out now."

"I gave you an order. Obey it."

Dick could not let her go. She hugged his neck tightly as he patted her hair nervously. She spoke to him in rambling French, which he couldn't understand.

"It's okay, it's okay, everything's going to be okay."

How could he possibly promise this child that everything would be okay, that he would get her out of this situation when he couldn't even help himself? She couldn't even understand him.

"DICK!"

The communicators rattled his eardrums, but Dick didn't care. "I can't do this, Slade!"

"Damn it!"

Gunfire filled the air again. Dick ducked his head as he carried the little girl away, hoping against hope that he would not lose her. He was painfully aware of the gun hanging on his hip, but he didn't want to take it out again unless he had to. He might scare her.

"Drop her."

Their target stood at the other end of the hallway, his gun pointed straight at Dick. He spoke with a slight French accent. His name was Jérémie Dupont, a Frenchman drug dealer whose international market had done splendidly. One of his competitors had hired Slade to kill him, or so Dick understood.

"Do you understand me, American?" Dupont demanded. "Drop the girl or I will shoot you both."

Dick shifted the girl to one arm as he reached for his gun. "Do you know who I am, Dupont?"

"I know that you work for Deathstroke and that you are here to kill me."

Where the hell was Slade? He should have finished the job by now. Dick raised the gun and pointed it at Dupont. In normal circumstances his hands would have shaken with fright. But now he had a purpose. If he did nothing then he would be killed. He raised his gun and aimed it at his target. "That's right. But if you step aside and let me and the kid through, then I won't kill you."

"I'm the one with the bigger gun. I will unload this entire magazine into you and the kid before you can even move."

Damn. This was turning into a giant game of chicken. Obviously the girl was of some value to the guy, because he was hesitating to shoot as well. Dick sure as hell knew that this wasn't Dupont's kid. Slade's dossiers were pretty thorough about those kinds of things. If the guy so much as bought a lottery ticket while out he was drunk one night, then Slade knew about it.

"I've fought worse than you," Dick said. "Even the plasma monster back at home isn't as big of a butthole as you."

"Is that supposed to impress me?"

"Yeah. In fact it is."

Gunfire erupted all around them as Slade brought the gunfight to their floor. Dick's eardrums hurt as the girl screamed into his ear. He fired a warning shot at Dupont, who ducked out of the way and took cover behind a wall.

"You had him a point-blank range and you didn't shoot him?" Slade snarled into the communicator. "Incredible. Watch your right."

The warning came almost a second too late. Dick twisted awkwardly as gunfire came rushing down the other hallway on his right. Someone blocked his way. He almost fired two shots into the guy before he realized that it was Slade.

"Give me the kid," Slade said, "I'll get her out of here. You finish the job."

Instead of following his master's orders, Dick shook his head and tightened his grip on the kid. What was Slade trying to do, scare the kid? He was in uniform. If the girl wasn't scared before, she would be scared by Slade's freaking mask.

"What the hell makes you think I trust you with a little kid?"

"This isn't up for negotiation!"

A horrible time for an argument, really. One of Dupont's men shouted something in French. "Foutons le camp avant que les flics n'arrivent!"

"Crap," Slade said. "The cops are coming. We need to get moving."

Slade tried to take the kid away, but she screamed, trying to grab onto Dick's armor as Slade pulled her out of his arms.

"Come on, Slade, we had a deal—"

"We're not going to discuss this now."

Wham!

Dick kicked Slade's shin, which distracted him for just a moment and gave Dick enough time to take the screaming child back.

"Don't do this now, kid!" Slade snapped. "Once we get out of this I swear to God—"

A sudden explosion rocked the building and threw both of them off their feet. The girl accidentally let go of Dick and skidded down the hallway. A secondary explosion, much closer and more dangerous, lurched them even further away from each other. As Dick tried to launch himself towards the kid, Slade grabbed the back of his uniform and pulled him behind a wall as a third explosion blasted the hallway.

He knew long before the debris had settled that the girl was dead. A fire had started at the other end of the hall and was consuming the area where the girl had gone. He knew that if he stepped outside that he would see her body.

"Come on!" Slade shook his shoulders. "Dick, we have to go."

Slade started shouting at him as he refused to move. Dick wasn't even aware that he was screaming until Slade clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Get yourself killed if you want, but don't drag me into it," Slade hissed. "We're done. We're leaving, now."

"Dick?" Slade's voice broke him out of his reverie. "We're getting lunch. You haven't eaten."

Oh. He hadn't even noticed that they had wandered into a little street full of restaurants. Uneasy thoughts continued to haunt him as they sat down and had brunch next to the canal. Dick spent most of the time staring out at the water watching the gondolas float by, picking at the food Slade had ordered for him.

How could Slade brush this off so easily? He had kids once. Dick didn't know them, but if Slade loved his kids, then how could he tolerate a child's death?

Yeah. He had kids once. They probably got taken away by social services, which is how I got stuck with this lunatic.

Maybe everyone just needed to chill out. Bruges seemed the perfect place to chill out and forget about the world for a little while. Bruges was an old city with winding canals and churches filled with reverent silence. The droves of tourists had not yet arrived, so it was the quiet before the storm.

Dick looked up at the pale blue sky. It really was a beautiful spring day in Bruges. The morning chill nipped at his ears, nose, and cheeks, causing them to flush red. As he took a deep breath he smelled the city air. Maybe someday things would be okay again.

"I'm going to take off for a while," Dick said. "Is that all right with you?"

The mercenary stiffened, and for a moment Dick thought he had asked at the wrong time. Being nice was only another technique of his: no matter how nice Slade appeared to be, it was always for another end.

Aw, crap, Dick thought.

After a moment Slade smiled, which made Dick feel uneasy.

"Here's a map of the city. Be back at the apartment by six. Tomorrow we're leaving the country."

"Fine." Dick got up from his chair and set a twenty euro underneath his glass. "This is for her tip."

Slade raised an eyebrow. "All right."

Whatever. It was Dick's blood money, and Slade gave it to him to do whatever he wanted with it.

"But," Slade said.

Dick groaned and turned around. "There's something you want me to do?"

"As a matter of fact, there is. Give me your phone." Slade took his phone, unlocked it and typed something into a navigation app. "We need new guns before we leave the country. You're going to pick them up for me at 3 o'clock at this address. Do this if you want to go out alone into the city today."

There was always a catch, wasn't there? "I thought we weren't here on business."

"We're aren't. I'm just making sure we have what we need."

"Fine." Dick put his phone back into his pocket. "See you later."

Dick didn't know where he was going to go during those three hours he had to kill, but he had a whole city to explore. Best make the most of it while he could.


	3. The Bell Tower

**-SW-**

After he had paid the bill and resisted the urge to break down the twenty euro Dick gave the waitress, Slade made his way out. He too was not certain where he was going this afternoon, but he didn't care. He had a phone call to make. Slade unlocked his phone and called Wintergreen, who was waiting to talk with him.

"Hey, Will, it's me."

"What happened?" Wintergreen demanded. "I haven't heard from either of you in two days."

"Yeah, well, it didn't go so well. A kid died."

Will swore. "Why aren't you back yet?"

"Dupont's men probably have our every move tracked. I need to wait until everything cools off before we leave mainland Europe."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, Sir. Perhaps not take any more contracts for a few months?"

"You know I can't afford to do that. Not now that we botched this contract."

"And I'm certain that Richard is not taking this well."

"No. No, he's not."

"Do you blame the boy?"

Did Slade blame Dick for what had happened? After all, he had made a deal with him not to interfere with any contracts that involved kids. But as the kid had been unexpected and visibly upset Dick, Slade had tried to correct the situation as best as he could.

"That doesn't matter," Slade replied. "What's done is done. Blaming each other won't help."

"I see. Well, in that case, well, why don't you come back to California and we'll get this all sorted out?"

"That's the plan."

"Where's Dick now?"

"I let him wander around Bruges. He needed to get out and about for a long while."

"All right. I'll see you two by this weekend."

Slade hung up. Holy hell, what a mess. He was certain that he would never conduct business with that particular employer again. Clearly Slade had over-estimated Dick's abilities. The boy wasn't ready for an international contract. All those months of training just backfired in a single night. Great.

He checked his phone again and saw that Dick was still hanging around town and wasn't anywhere he wasn't supposed to be. Slade had half a mind to lecture him properly about the contract once they got back to the States, but what was Slade supposed to do? Beat him for trying to save a kid? There was nothing wrong with that, yet at the same time Slade knew that he couldn't let this slide.

Slade made a decision. A severe lecture would do, just another talk to make Dick understand that he _had_ to follow Slade's orders no matter how bizarre they seemed. If Dick had followed his orders, then maybe that child wouldn't have died. If nothing else, they could have completed their contract without so much fuss.

Now that Dick was out of his way for a few hours, however, Slade could get some things done without worrying about the kid. There were phone calls to make, threats to keep, the usual cleanup.

**-DG-**

He made his way to historic Bruges, the older part of the city all tourists wanted to see, aside from the swans on the canals.

He wandered into a church, where he dumped a ton of euros into the church donation box. Slade had started giving him a small percentage of their contract earnings about two years ago, and ever so slightly the cut grew as Slade delegated more tasks to him. By now Dick could move out of the Haunt and live comfortably by himself, if Slade would let him, but spending blood money was so unsettling that he hardly touched it. Maybe there was something wrong about dumping that money into a church's donation box, but it was the best he could do. He had no need for it, and Slade would know if he was hoarding as part of an escape attempt. This was Dick's best attempt at laundering his money away.

Dick left without taking a look around. It was unsettling to be here, especially after such a bloody contract. It didn't feel right. Instead he left and continued walking to the touristy part of town. In a few minutes he found himself in front of the Belfry, an old bell tower that also acted as a fire tower in ye olden times, according to the guidebook Dick picked up earlier. Dick stood in the middle of the market place and looked up at the Belfry bell tower, eighty-three meters high and a guaranteed asthma attack for anyone who dared climb up its winding stone stairs.

Well, it was in the visitor's guidebook. You had to do it before you left Bruges. Maybe take a selfie or two. Flood Slade's phone with stupid pictures of pigeons. The usual.

He went up to the ticket counter and produced a wallet full of euros. "One ticket to the top, please."

The vendor sold him his ticket and gave him directions, though Dick wasn't really listening to the guide's instructions. After wandering through the little gift shop he finally went up. He climbed up the tightly-wound stairs, using the fraying rope to ease his ascension. There weren't many other tourists there, not for this time of year. Thanks to years of training he had no problem ascending the stairs, though he had to stop and allow other winded tourists some time to walk down.

Dick ducked his head underneath the bell as he made his way to the balcony, where he could look out over the city. He stuck his hands into his coat pockets and studied the city skyline. This was one of the highest points in Bruges. Down below natives went about their business. The wind was a lot stronger up here, and the height could make anyone feel dizzy. Dick leaned over the edge of the window and stuck his head out.

_I could jump._

Wow. It was a long, long drop. Starfire wouldn't be there to catch him. No one would be there. There was no guarantee that he would die once he hit the pavement. But jumping off the bell tower was just an invading impish thought.

Dick took out his cell phone and took a picture of the city skyline. Once this was done he sent the picture to everyone in his contacts list, which was a depressing two people.

_I'm at the Belfry,_ he texted. _Having way more fun than you._

It was a lie, but one of the many lies he told every day. He supposed that in another time he would have been having lots of fun, but nothing interested him today. So long as he checked in every so often through a text, Slade would leave him alone. Most of the time.

He didn't bother reading Slade's text, though he heard the notification noise. Dick looked at his phone and the blinking light that told him he had an unread text message. He held it over the balcony and considered dropping it. But, after a moment, he put it back in his pocket. Dropping a phone from this height could hurt someone.

Dick didn't move as a small crowd of tourists finally made it up to the Belfry, a group of man speaking in rapid Spanish. One of them gestured to him.

_"Está es el muchacho?"_

_"Yeah,"_ one of the other tourists said. _"Cuidado por la campana, Luis."_

_"Yo lo veo."_

They seemed just as distracted as Dick felt, though they continued talking about him, and Dick knew because he was the only "muchacho" in the room. Dick turned to look at the other tourists. It wasn't the language so much that bothered Dick, but he noticed their accents. These guys did not speak Spanish with the soft Madrid lisp or other familiar European Spanish accents, but the kind of accent Dick had heard all the time in Jump City. And they were talking about him.

"You don't think I understand you?" Dick asked. "Why don't you talk to me instead of talking about me?"

Dick felt for the gun hanging in the inside of his coat and scowled when he didn't find it. Given the nature of his occupation, it was imperative to carry around a weapon at almost all times, except when he was around Slade. Considering their last contract, Slade conveniently forgot to give him a weapon today. There were three of them, though only one of them looked bewildered that Dick had understood them.

"Who are you?" Dick demanded. "And why are you following me?"

_Who do you work for?_ That was the bigger question. If this was retribution for their last contract…

"Why don't we walk down nice and quiet-like, and then talk about it over drinks? Huh?" The man approached him. "It's too cramped up here. Downstairs we'll have more privacy."

"I don't think so," Dick replied. "Unfortunately, I have an appointment to keep."

"We both know you don't want to keep it. We know who you are."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Dick snarled. "I've been through hell. I don't care because it doesn't matter."

Slade had already done everything he could to use his friends to hurt him. Besides, Dick didn't have any friends. Not anymore. And if these guys expected to use Slade against him, well, that would be a real laugh.

"Just get the hell out of here," their leader snapped. "You're coming with us, whether you like it or not. We have this entire tourist trap surrounded with more men. One way or another, you're going to have a word with our boss."

Crap. These guys must belong to Dupont. Well, it was only a matter of time before retribution arrived. How long had they been following him? Dick chastised himself for being so stupid. He had been so wrapped up in his own depressing thoughts that he hadn't noticed anyone following him. Did they know where he and Slade were staying?

"Unless you tell me why you want to talk, then I'm not going anywhere."

"We're not here to negotiate."

Boy, like Dick hadn't heard that before. He raised his hands slowly and tried to smile. "Look, fellas, I don't think any of us want a shootout here. We'd all probably end up dead. So, why don't you go down and leave me alone? You can ambush me at the bottom of the stairs."

"Now, muchacho."

"All right," Dick replied, shrugging. "I'll go down now."

He turned and jumped out of the window.

People screamed as they looked up and pointed at him. Dick twisted in the air and shot his grapple hook towards one of the other buildings. When his weight finally caught on the cable his arms felt like they would be ripped out of their sockets. A hot searing pain raced across his palms as the rope burned his hands. Usually he'd be wearing gloves while doing this.

His knees rattled as he hit the cobblestones. His arms flailed widely as he tried to right himself. He didn't land nearly as gracefully as he wanted to. Dick stumbled over his feet, and his legs twisted so much he was afraid he had rolled his ankle. He ended up falling on the street again while people scuttled out of his way. Dick Grayson, graceful acrobat at his finest!

The men at the top of the tower took out their guns and shot at him. Great. Shooting at a historic building. Perfect way to end his weekend. There was nothing he could do but duck beneath awnings and get out of the open, preferably away from other people.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" Dick bellowed, waving his arms madly. "Go home!"

Most people got the hint and careened out of his way, some screaming as the men on top of the bell tower continued to shoot at him. Crap. He repeated his instructions in his awful German in the hope that those who didn't understand English would understand him. Somehow.

Dick ran right into a huge, muscular guy so hard that he immediately fell backwards onto the cobblestone street. His head spun as it hit the street. When his vision cleared he saw who it was, and his jaw dropped in astonishment.

"What?"

He scuttled backwards, trying to get back onto his feet, but the man stepped on Dick's coat. "You're not going anywhere, muchacho."

There was no point fighting back. If he made this guy angry, then he would be dead within seconds. But what else could he do? Roll over and play dead? Dick tried to wriggle out of his coat, but the man kicked him hard in the ribs. One of the henchmen ran up to them.

_"Jefe, Wilson no está aquí."_

_"Encuentralo,"_ the man snapped to his henchmen. He turned his attention back to Dick. _"Dónde está su amigo Wilson?"_

"Did you just call him my friend?" Dick asked, wincing as he crawled away. "Wow, have you got it all wrong."

Slade was going to be so pissed! The last thing Dick wanted was for Slade to come and save him. Man, once he got out of this he was going to be in a world of trouble.

"Where is Wilson?" The man growled.

"I don't know," Dick admitted. "Look, don't get me involved."

He had to run for it. If he got himself captured, then Dick wouldn't hear the end of it from Slade. Dick hated running away from a fight, but he knew this villain all too well. Dick slammed his feet at the guy's legs and launched himself off the street.

"You can't keep running away." The man grabbed the back of his coat and yanked him back. "Isn't that what you've been doing the past two days? Running away?"

A punch to the face sent him sprawling backwards. He landed awkwardly on the street, his body twisted and his head pounding painfully. Dick was surprised that he wasn't unconscious, given the pounding his head had taken today. Hopefully he hadn't suffered a concussion. As he pushed himself to his elbows he saw passerby scattering out of the way. He stood up and wiped away blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fine," Dick said.

If he didn't try to fight, then what kind of mercenary was he? The man yelled as he flexed his muscles in response, which bulged at an alarming rate. Before Dick had time to think the man threw punch after punch at him. Dick dodged and went on the defensive, uncomfortably unaware that the henchmen were there circled around them, ready to push him back towards their boss if he stepped out of the circle. Unless he got out his grapple hook again, there was really no way out of this circle. At least he had speed and agility at his advantage, though Dick had a bad feeling that he was going to lose this one.

The guy grabbed Dick's incoming arm and threw him over his shoulder. Instead of letting Dick fall to the ground, the guy fell down with him and used his weight to crush Dick against the cobblestones, pinning him beneath his body so that Dick couldn't escape. The impact shook his entire body, and Dick yelped in pain. Something in his body had to be broken, something must be wrong, something…

Dick's wrists were pinned to the ground as the guy hovered over him, though he didn't try to wriggle away, as he was still numb with shock. For the first time in months he felt real fear, rather than the impeding fear he felt with the uneasy truce he had with Slade. Or perhaps he had simply gotten used to Slade's behavior, and this villain's actions were so frightfully animalistic—yet controlled—that Dick had no idea what to do. Though terrified, his expression was blank, and it would be until Dick completely assessed the situation. Showing fear would get him in trouble. His heart pounded against his rib cage as the guy leaned over him and snarled in his face.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," Dick replied, his voice oddly steady. "Yes, I know who you are, Bane."

Bane. Freaking Bane. What the hell was he doing all the way in Belgium? Coincidence was out of the question. Judging from what he had asked Dick and demanded of his henchmen, Dick could correctly guess that Bane was here to settle a dispute with Slade. Awesome.

Dick searched Bane's masked face, though he could read nothing but anger. Did Bane recognize him as the first Robin? Or did he only know Dick as Slade's henchman?

"What do you want?" Dick demanded. "Are you here on Dupont's behalf?"

"No." Bane yanked Dick to his feet. "Get in the car and we won't shoot you."

Dick raised his hands over his head and watched Bane closely. "A wounded hostage leaves a mess," Dick replied calmly. "Don't worry. I'll cooperate."

Bane was clearly suspicious of his acquiescent behavior. He rapped another order, and Dick found his hands being handcuffed behind his back. Someone else patted him down quickly to check for weapons and instead found his cell phone, which they took away.

"You try to escape, muchacho, and I won't hesitate to kill you," Bane growled. "Now, you're going to get in the car and shut up."

Those guys had stalked him all the way up to the bell-tower just to kidnap him? And it was all because he was connected to Slade? If Bane wasn't here on behalf of Dupont, then who? Surely not on personal business? Dick didn't remember Slade interacting with Bane in the past few years, although who knew who Slade talked to when Dick wasn't around?

If anything, five years of being a hostage had taught Dick to shut up until he knew what was going on. Someone pulled a sack over his head as the van roared to life and careened down the narrow streets.


	4. Phone Calls

After a long while someone pulled the sack over Dick's head. Unfortunately, Dick found himself tied to a chair. He flexed his hands experimentally, feeling the knots with his fingers to figure out how to escape.

"Man, what was in that sack before, weed?" Dick coughed. "It reeks."

"Shut up."

He was going to be in so much trouble, but he didn't want to think about it. Dick knew that the situation was bad when he was more worried about Slade's reaction than his personal safety in the here and now. Bane and his minions were more likely to kill him than Slade ever would be.

Bane.

Dick gazed up at this hulking mass of muscle, his limbs freezing in fear. He recognized the guy from his earlier days as Robin, but would Bane recognize him? Did any of the villains in Batman's rogue gallery know that the first Robin was working for Deathstroke? Asking outright was stupid.

Bane bent down so that he was at Dick's eye level. _"Tu llamas, muchacho?"_

"Ravager."

When Slade asked him to come up with another alias, Dick had refused. He had toyed with a few new names, but he didn't want to accept the fact that he was beyond help. Slade eventually gave him an alias he could use during contracts, and it was only several months later that Dick realized that it had been Grant Wilson's former alias. Freaking guy really needed some therapy.

"Nah, we know that. Your REAL name."

"Dick." Dick spat his name like an expletive.

He felt the slap well before he was even aware that it had happened. Bane slapped a lot like Slade: an open-handed slap that had real power behind it. Not meant to seriously injure, but meant to make him feel like an idiot who couldn't even defend himself. Ah. Second time in twenty-four hours.

"Next time it'll be your eye," Bane snapped. "Or your neck."

"That wasn't necessary," Dick replied. "That is my name. Would you prefer to call me Richard?"

"Quit the attitude. I have no time for your smartass comments."

"Oh, you sound so much like someone I know."

Bane's hand wrapped around his neck. Dick felt his chair tipping backwards as Bane advanced towards him, his hand squeezing Dick's neck.

"Do you know who I am, Dick, and what I am capable of?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why you're here?"

"No."

For the first time in months Dick felt real fear. Even without the venom pumping through his veins Bane was a terrific opponent. Dick knew that Batman had difficulty defeating Bane with brute force; Dick didn't stand a chance if it came to a fight. He had dealt with enough crazy people to know that he just had to play along.

"Because you work for the guy we're looking for," Bane said. "If you're in trouble, then he'll come for you, his partner."

"Partner?" Dick echoed. "You think I'm his equal?"

Strangled laughter escaped him, alarming many of Bane's cronies. Dick couldn't help but laugh. As his Joker-inspired laughter settled down he regained control of himself. "I'm not his partner. I'm his prisoner."

Admitting this to someone other than Slade's trusted associates felt kind of good, to be perfectly honest. Bane let go of him. Dick's teeth clattered as the chair fell back to the ground.

"Dios de mio...you're Bruce Wayne's kid. Batman's brat."

Dick's blood froze in his veins. "What do you know about Bruce Wayne?'

A smirk spread across Bane's face. "A lot, muchacho."

"What do you know?"

Bane straightened and rapped orders to his men in rapid Spanish. The chair tipped precariously as Dick writhed angrily. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

"I have no reason to tell you anything. So _cállate._ Be quiet and perhaps we will not kill you."

What was going on? Bane was going to kill Slade. That was it, that was why Bane had followed them all the way to Bruges. Someone had hired him to kill Slade Wilson. And Bane thought he could use Dick as bait. Was he surprised to see the first Robin here? Wasn't it common knowledge now that the first Robin was Slade's apprentice?

"You don't know who you're dealing with!" Dick shouted. Someone moved to gag him, but he twisted his way out of their grip to keep talking.

"I think I do."

"No, you don't. Because I want Slade Wilson dead too."

Bane lifted a hand. "No, Luis. Háblame, muchacho."

The minion stepped away from Dick, who did not dare look away from Bane. Dick was playing with fire and he knew it. Perhaps this was his one chance to end this mess once and for all.

"I've been his hostage for years. I know all his major contacts. I know how he works."

"What's in it for me? Or you?"

"An easy kill for you. Easy money. And I get my freedom."

"All of Wilson's private information?"

"Everything you could ever want."

"How do I know you're not secretly working for him?"

"Do I really need to prove to everyone that I hate him? I want him dead, Bane. I've wanted him dead for a long time."

Dick surprised himself with these words. He had never said them out loud, but now that he spat them at Bane he realized that he very much wanted this reality. But Dick didn't want to be the one to do the deed. Or did he? Dick didn't know.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm your only lead. You don't have a choice if you really want to catch him." Dick bristled. "And if you don't believe me, then I have all the evidence you need to prove that he's treated me like shit."

The men glanced at each other, wondering how their boss was going to take this information.

"If you're his prisoner, then why was he letting you walk around like a tourist?" one of Bane's cronies demanded.

"Not all prisons are behind bars."

"I don't believe you." Bane crossed his arms over his massive chest. "Show me this evidence."

The slightest smidge of panic rose in Dick's chest. How could he prove it to them? He just lost a fight with Bane, so he couldn't prove that Slade had slapped him.

"Look through that phone," Dick said, gesturing to the guy who took away his cell phone. "I've been using that to document everything." Well, that was partly true. Because all of his data usage was monitored so closely there wasn't much on the phone, but there was enough. His text messages were wiped periodically, although sometimes Slade forget to check things like pictures and video. Yes, Slade Wilson did forget things. "Well, maybe not everything, but I have enough to prove that he's not really my friend."

His phone hadn't been wiped clean in a while. He had conversations recorded, files saved, so many important things he could use from this past month to convict Slade. The guy made sure to get rid of other incriminating evidence in case Dick did find a way out, but maybe, just this once, Slade had made a big enough mistake.

"What do I have to do to prove it to you?" Dick snapped.

"You will kill Slade Wilson." Bane leaned forward and stared menacingly at Dick. "Only then will I believe you."

Killing Slade was something he had considered before, but actually doing the deed was a different matter entirely. "Kill him?"

"If you want him dead, then you will kill him."

"Aren't you being paid to kill him?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

Bane shifted his weight ever so slightly, making the chair creak beneath his massive weight. Dick was incredibly aware of everything and everyone in the room. How Bane sat close to him, and how he could easily hit Dick again. How the minions kept one hand on their guns. How he could not, for the life of him, undo these knots. And he wasn't used to seeing Bane so calm, as Dick had never seen him like that, even as Robin, and that scared him.

"My business is my own, muchacho. I only mean to kill Wilson, and if you don't cause me trouble then I, as well as my employer, will spare your life."

His employer?

_"You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch."_

_You really are a heel._

_You're as cuddly as a cactus_

_You're as charming as an eel,_

_You're a bad banana with a greasy black peel!"_

The entire room glanced at each other at the sudden noise. Even Dick felt confused at first, until he realized that it was his cell phone with the personalized ringtone.

"Excuse me," Dick said. "I have to take this phone call. Would you mind untying me so I can answer?"

Bane nodded. Someone freed his hands and one of Bane's henchmen handed Dick the phone.

"Put it on speaker phone," Bane said.

"Sure. No problem." Dick pressed a button and braced himself for an earful.

"Where the hell are you?" Slade snarled. "You were supposed to meet my guys half an hour ago."

"Well, Slade, we kind of ran into a snag," Dick said. "It seems as though we have a bigger problem on our hands."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? When you get back here I swear to God—"

"Bane is in Bruges, Slade."

That seemed to shut Slade up. For once.

"What?"

"You heard me. Seems like his guys were waiting for me at the Belfry. They're probably waiting to ambush you too. Don't believe me? Bane's listening in right now."

"The boy is right," Bane said. "I captured him, Wilson. If you want to see your man alive, then you will surrender yourself," Bane said. "You have three hours to do this, or else we will kill him."

"Well, isn't that cheerful?" Dick asked.

"What do you want, Bane?"

"An exchange. I would prefer both of you alive, but you are my primary target. I am willing to exchange you for the boy."

"And what the hell makes you think that I trust you?"

"Because you have no other choice, unless you want the boy to die."

Silence followed those words. What was Slade going to do? Going out of his way to rescue Dick could be seen as a sign of weakness, and Slade hated showing weakness.

"Fine," Slade replied. "When and where, Bane?"

"I'll send you the coordinates through the boy's phone," Bane replied.

"Fine. Dick, do nothing more to compromise us. Is that clear?"

"Kind of hard to promise when someone has a gun to your head," Dick said. "But I'll do my best."

He hung up.

"You seem terribly calm about this," Bane said as soon as Dick had shut his phone. "What if your death is imminent?"

"Like I said: I've been a prisoner for a long time. I don't care anymore." Dick stood up and brushed dust away from his sleeve. "If you kill me, then what? I have my own problems. I'm not a threat to you until you seriously piss me off."

There was something about the tension in the room that Dick could not quite describe. Like everyone knew something he didn't.

"You were the first Robin, weren't you?" Bane asked.

"It was a long time ago."

Wow, even now people still thought of him as Robin. Dick turned towards Bane and put up a finger. "Let's get one thing straight: I've killed people, but I don't want to have to kill anymore. Not even him."

Bane laughed. "If I were his prisoner, then I would kill him."

A walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Let me see the boy, Bane."

A cool male voice spoke, one that Dick didn't recognize. Bane grabbed the walkie-talkie from his henchman. "But your instructions—"

"I saw the whole exchange through the cameras. The boy is telling the truth. Bring him to me."

"Okay, Señor." Bane glared at Dick. "Seems like you got a reprieve, muchacho." He grabbed Dick's arm and pushed him forward. "Let's go."

**-SW-**

Never once, in all five years that Dick had worked for him, had the kid ever been caught. Slade had made it clear that if Dick ever allowed himself to be captured by the police he would automatically kill the Titans. But Dick being captured by fellow villains? That was a whole different ball game.

He had to consider the possibility that none of this was Dick's fault. Neither of them knew that Bane was in Bruges.

But he allowed himself to be captured.

Letting Dick go off on his own so soon after that awful contract was a bad idea. Slade should have known that the kid would be so mentally unstable that he couldn't be trusted out on his own. Once this was over the kid was going to be in so much trouble for letting himself get caught. Never in all five years had this happened. Unlike Batman, who constantly had to rescue Robin during their partnership, Slade made sure that Dick never found himself in such a situation. If anyone tried then Slade killed them.

He had just been stupid and careless today. Pissed off at Dick's increasingly defiant behavior. Everyone was just pissed off at everyone else, which led to all these bad decisions. Slade picked up his phone and called Frannie.

"What's wrong, Slade?"

"I've run into a bit of trouble. It's nothing I can't handle."

Slade wasn't used to dealing with kidnapping cases. Usually he was the one doing the kidnapping. Yet at this point he couldn't just leave Dick alone. He was just as capable of compromising Slade's criminal empire as Slade was. Dick knew the ins and outs of Slade's business, even if he said nothing or pretended that he didn't care.

"With whom?"

"Bane, of all people."

None of this made sense. Why would Bane be after him? Slade hadn't dealt with Bane in a long time. He tried to keep out of Bane's way, mostly because he was more of a Bat villain. What if this had to do with Bane's connection to Batman? Through Slade's connection with Batman's first sidekick? Bane and Batman did have a sort of blood feud, after all. It wouldn't be the first time someone had used Dick to get to Batman.

"Bane? What does he want with you?"

"No idea, but I'm going to find out."

"You have a second? Let me see what he's been up to." Slade heard her typing on the computer. "Hmmm. Well. I think you should see this, Slade."

A notification noise told him that she just sent him a link. Slade looked at the information on his phone and his jaw dropped in surprise. Really? Things had gone that bad back in the States?

"Ah," Slade muttered to himself. "I see."

If Dick got any funny ideas in his head, any inclination to double-cross Slade, then this bit of information would keep the kid at bay. Slade smirked to himself. Maybe this whole thing was a mess right now, but Slade could twist this to his advantage.

Dick wouldn't betray me.

Well, Slade wasn't dumb enough to believe that. Dick may have gotten more complacent over the years, but Slade knew that Dick was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to take him down. Maybe even kill Slade. Hah. Dick murdering in cold blood? Dick was a lot of things, but he wasn't a murderer. Asking someone else to do it for him…well…that may not be beyond him. Who knew what Dick was thinking these days?

"Thanks, Frannie."

"Anytime." Frannie hung up. Slade immediately called Wintergreen, who had to be sleeping, considering the time difference.

"Will," Slade said.

"You better have a good reason for waking me up," Wintergreen mumbled.

"We're run into a bit of a problem. We may not get back by this weekend."

"Why?" Wintergreen sounded more alert. "Something with Dupont's men?"

"I don't know. I just thought I'd let you know." Slade paused. "Check the news if you haven't already. I think something happened in Gotham a few days ago, but it's only on the news now."

Telling Wintergreen the truth would only make him worry. If he heard that Dick had been kidnapped, then Slade wouldn't hear the end of it.

"I will. Take care, Slade." Wintergreen hung up.

Slade's phone beeped. One of Bane's men had sent him a text with the coordinates, just as promised. Tomorrow morning at seven am. Fine. That gave Slade quite enough time to come up with a counter-plan.


	5. Negro y Azul

_Slade is going to be so pissed, Slade will be so pissed..._

Negative thoughts kept tumbling over and over in Dick's mind as he followed Bane's men through the building. Who the hell would be crazy enough to hire Bane? And why would Bane bother working for someone else? He was the kind of guy who would hire other people to do his bidding, not the type to work for someone else.

"So who hired you to kill Slade Wilson?" Dick demanded.

"Someone who wants him dead."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I thought you knew everything about Slade Wilson. Surely, you would know about this hombre."

"I only know what Slade's been up to these past five years," Dick replied. "He hasn't told me much about who he's dealt with in the past."

Slade still kept him in the dark, despite the fact that Dick knew so much about how Slade's networks worked. It was really irritating.

"You will know soon enough," Bane replied.

They walked through dark hallways. Where, Dick didn't know, but he tried his best to remember the way back. Dick stared at Bane's back and worked up the courage to talk to Bane.

"What happened to Bruce Wayne?" Dick asked.

"If I were you, I would not pry into Wayne's business."

"What happened to him?"

Bane whirled around and grabbed Dick by the scruff of the neck. "You don't work for him anymore. The information is irrelevant."

"Leave the boy alone, Bane. He's been through enough."

Both Bane and Dick looked up at the sound of the new voice in the room. Bane let him go. "I don't know why—"

"Leave the worrying to me, Bane. I'd like to have a chat with our guest."

Bane left the room.

The voice was unfamiliar. The man swiveled his chair around to look at Dick. He was, perhaps, a man in his late fifties, hard-set and well-dressed with dark brown hair graying at the temples. Dick didn't recognize him.

"So you're the boy Wilson's been training these past five years."

Dick said nothing. Best to let the guy ramble, if that was what he wanted to do. The man merely smirked when Dick didn't respond, as though he thought it was childishly cute.

"As Slade may have told you, I do not care about harming children. I certainly do not care if I kill you, so don't give me reason to."

Slade may have told him? "I'm sorry. I don't know who you are."

"Well, isn't that something." The man looked at him strangely. "Why don't you take a seat? Dick, right?"

"Yeah." Dick sat down in the chair the man had gestured, a nice chair he hoped he wouldn't stain with the blood dripping from his collar. "Who are you?"

"Call me Bill for now," Bill said, sitting across from him. "So sorry about the way Bane treated you, but you can understand our cautiousness, I'm sure."

This guy really reminded Dick of Slade. He didn't know what it was, since the two didn't look anything alike. It was the way the guy acted, Dick supposed. The body language, the arrogance, the feeling that he could erupt into violence at any given moment.

"You don't care, so don't pretend to," Dick said. "I can't stand deceptive kindness."

His words surprised Bill, if only for the slightest of moments. Then he nodded slowly, as though he approved this particular philosophy.

"Look at you, all black and blue. You were like that before went a few rounds with Bane, according to the security cameras. Guess you're telling the truth." The man smirked. Where the hell was this guy going? "So, tell me, Dick: how's Slade been lately? It's been a long while since I've talked to him."

"He's an asshole, just like always."

Bill chuckled. "Isn't he? I used with work with him."

"You used to work with Slade?"

"A long time ago. Probably before you were even born."

"Let's cut to the chase, Bill, and tell me what you want," Dick said, leaning back in his chair. "I don't want to get chummy with you or anyone else here."

"Why? So you can go back to Slade? I thought you were his prisoner."

"Yeah, well, Slade won't kill me, and you can." Dick eyed him warily. "Does everyone know who I am?"

"Given recent events, your secret identity is not exactly a secret anymore. By now everyone in the criminal underground knows who you are, Dick. Even if they don't know your real name, they know that you used to be Robin. I'm not in the assassin's ring, so I didn't know before today. I don't normally bother myself with assassins, but with Slade I'll make an exception."

What had happened while they were away from the States? Dick's heart fluttered madly. Surely something didn't happen to Batman...

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a smart boy. You'll figure it out in good time."

"Why don't you just tell me?"

"Because I need you to cooperate. Not that I seem to need much to persuade you, as you're a desperate man."

"And why should I trust you?"

"Because you have no choice." Boy, did that sound familiar. "Now, it seems to me that we can solve each other's problems. We have a common goal, Dick: we both want Slade Wilson dead. He's done you a great injustice by keeping you a prisoner for five years. I want you to deliver on your promise to kill Slade Wilson. If I were you, I'd want to pull the trigger myself."

"No. I'll let you do it, if it has to be done at all."

"So, you're still Batman's boy through and through?"

"I consider that a compliment." Would Bruce? Dick didn't think so. Bruce probably had renounced him a long time ago, back when Dick finally started killing people. Dick grimaced. "But I still won't do it."

Bill leaned forward and tapped the wooden table, a knowing expression on his face. "Killing Slade would solve my problem. Killing Slade would solve your problem. Killing Slade would probably solve a lot of other peoples' problems. So why won't you do it? You told Bane that you would."

"He was going to kill me!" Dick snapped. "Of course I was going to say what he wanted to hear!"

That was what people like Slade and Bane and even this guy didn't understand: of course people in these kinds of situations were going to do whatever they said!

"Aren't you the one out for revenge, Bill?"

"Well, aren't you?"

Dick stood up. "If I kill him for revenge, then I'll be just as bad as he is."

"That's it? That's Slade's grand plan? To make a villain out of you?" Bill chuckled. "He's crazy. What does he have to gain from that? Especially with you?"

"I'm not here to explain Slade's actions," Dick said. "But Slade has a lot of issues. He just chose to take them out on me because he's a psychopath."

And what if Bill was a psychopath too?

"A psychopath. All right. He's definitely that. And, I assume, he's beaten you and molded you into the man you are today. And he's probably proud of it."

That was it: Dick didn't like him. "This is irrelevant. I'll help you take down Slade, I'll even help you kill Slade, but I won't pull the trigger."

"So you'll let him die through inaction. Do you realize how contradictory your words are? If you hate him so much, why haven't you killed him before? I'm sure you've had plenty of opportunities. You've killed so many people for him, so why can't you turn around and shoot him?"

"It's a lot more complicated than that." Why was Bill asking these questions? Just what was his relationship to Slade?

"In the end you're a coward," Bill said. "Slade can't even scare you enough to make you a cold-blooded murderer."

Dick grabbed the front of Bill's shirt and slammed him against the wall.

"Oh-ho," Bill gasped. "Think you're a tough guy, huh?"

"I've been trained by both Batman and Deathstroke," Dick growled. "I can kill you if I want."

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Bill shoved Dick away and punched him. "Because right now, I'm not impressed."

Dick punched him right back, a nice uppercut to Bill's chin that caught him off-guard. "I'm not looking to impress you."

All of the frustration that had been bubbling inside him flooded out of him in the form of punches and kicks. During his fit of rage Bill somehow ended up on the floor, blood dripping from his nose.

"Ah, there we go," Bill said. "See what you did there, kid? You knocked me down."

Dick backed down and wiped away the sweat from his eyes. What had gotten into him? He was usually in control of his emotions. Slade had taught him to control his temper, or had that been Dick learning how to control his emotions so Slade couldn't get to him? Dick didn't know.

"If you can do that to me, then you can take down Slade Wilson. I should know, because I trained alongside him."

"Is that why you brought me here?" Dick asked, his temper rising. "To convince me to kill Slade? What if I go through with the exchange, and I go free?"

"It's the only way out, kid," Bill said. "You have to kill him."

"Why do I have to kill Slade?"

"Because he won't expect it from you. From me…well…it may not come as a great shock." Bill grinned at Dick's puzzled expression. "Don't believe me? You know it's true. He probably thinks you're too honest to backstab him."

Who _was_ this guy? An old friend of Slade's? He said he had worked with Slade once. Were they best friends gone astray? What?

"Honesty means kaput in our line of business," Dick replied. "Everyone backstabs everyone."

"Nah, I don't think so. You're lucky that Slade's developed such a soft spot for you, like you're one of his fucking kids, or else you'd be dead." Bill's face brightened. "Ah, I see why you won't kill him. You've gotten chummy with him. You've been working for him for so long that you guys can't help but refuse to kill each other."

"Shut up!"

"You're Slade Wilson's last weakness, Dick Grayson!"

"He doesn't fucking care about me!" Dick's voice cracked. "He thinks he does care, but he really doesn't. He thinks that he's doing me a favor, but he's not. I don't care if you think I'm weak for not killing him, because you don't fucking know me."

How could anyone call him weak after all he had been through? Anyone else would have cracked under the strain. It was a vicious cycle he couldn't escape from, not unless someone died. Whether that was the Titans, other former friends, or Slade, Dick didn't want that to happen. He didn't want this to end in bloodshed, even though he knew that it already had.

Bill smiled.

Dick ran a shaking hand through his hair. Few people could get him worked up like that. How did he let Bill get to him so quickly? How embarrassing.

"He's just using me," Dick said.

 _And you're trying to do the same_.

Yes, Dick was horribly aware that Bill made him mad just so he could "see the light," so he would agree to kill Slade for him. Give Slade a little poetic justice: make the kid he had been training for five years turn around and kill him. It was like the Sith rule of two: eventually, only one of them could be the master.

"You have a lot of issues you need to work through yourself," Bill said pleasantly. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a bottle. "Here, have a drink."

"I don't want a drink."

If Bill could get Dick worked up like this, then Dick didn't want to muddle his head with alcohol. It had been a long time since he had an outburst like that. He had no intention of allowing his emotions to flare up like that again.

"You're quite an interesting young man, Dick," Bill said, pouring himself a glass of brandy. "And your position within the mercenary world has put you into a unique position. You have the opportunity to kill Slade Wilson, though it baffles me that you haven't done so already."

"He controls me. And it's not a matter of brute force." Dick looked at Bill. "If I help you kill him, then you're going to promise me something."

"And what may that be?"

"My freedom is not the issue here. I want a guarantee that my friends will be out of the picture, that I will have control over his nanobots."

"And once he dies, then will you take his place?"

Dick paused. "Of course not."

"That is the only thing I ask of you in return," Bill said. "That you won't become the next Deathstroke."

"Well," Dick said, laughing uneasily. "You can be sure of that. I'm thinking of early retirement. That sounds nice."

Joking around helped him a lot, though Dick could tell that his jokes puzzled people, even other villains. They expected him to be some sad little boy who spent most of his time moping around, or maybe even the strong silent type. No, neither of those fit Dick's personality. Even with something as dark as murder hanging over his shoulders, he couldn't go through life without cracking a joke or two. It was one of the few ways he could cope.

"Do you see this gun, Dick?"

"Yes. There's no need to treat me like I'm five."

Bill's eyes burned dangerously. "Tomorrow morning I'll give you this gun. Slade won't know that you have it, as you aren't allowed weapons without his say-so. Once the exchange happens, you will shoot him. Just one shot. That's all you need, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately."

Bill put the gun back in its holster. "Tomorrow morning."

"Fine," Dick said, his gaze lingering on the gun for a few moments. "Don't worry, I wouldn't trust me with a gun either."

Bill's lips twitched into a smile. "Then we have a deal?"

Bill held out his hand. There was no reason Dick had to agree with this. He could follow through with the exchange, Slade would murder everyone, and things would go back to the way they were.

"Fine." They shook hands, thought Dick let go of Bill's hand quickly.

"I'm glad you're finally seeing reason," Bill said pleasantly.

 _Because you won't take no for an answer, jerk,_ Dick thought.

"Who are you, really?" Dick asked.

The man smiled, as though he had been waiting for Dick to ask. "Slade knows me as Jackal."

 

* * *

 

Jackal. Dick should have realized that he was dealing with the one person Slade hated with a true passion, the only person who would ever hold a true grudge against Slade. Jackal was the man responsible for messing up Slade's family life. Dick had found out about him quite by accident, and he wasn't stupid enough to ever bring up his name in front of Slade.

Dick laid on his side on a cot and faced the wall, unable to sleep. Jackal had given him a small room, which Dick had spent the rest of the day and now the night in. He spent most of his time arguing with himself in a desperate attempt to sort out his feelings. Hardly anyone came in, except to bring him food, and though no one said anything, Dick knew that he was very much a prisoner.

This was it. He was going to go through with it. He hated having so much time to think. He just wished that he could get it over with so he didn't have time for regrets. Once the deed was done, then the first hurdle was done. It was going to take a lot to repair the damage Slade had done to his life; he wasn't even sure that everything could be repaired.

He had to do it. He was the only one who could do it. Dick wouldn't leave a path of bodies behind, and the awful cycle of abuse would end. He didn't care if that made him the next Deathstroke, because had no intention of ever assuming the role. Hell, he wouldn't even become Batman, if Bruce was ever crazy enough to ask him.

The fact of the matter was that, someday, Slade did expect him to become Deathstroke. And once Slade was dead, then he could do nothing to make Dick continue doing his bidding. If Dick could kill so many others, then he could kill Slade. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the idea, but he saw no other way out of this. He couldn't be passive any longer.

_Jackal's using you to do his dirty work, just like Slade._

Dick rolled over onto his back. Tomorrow morning Slade might expect Dick to turn the gun on Jackal and kill him for what he did to Slade's family. Dick couldn't follow both commands and he didn't have the desire to. He wished that everything Jackal said wasn't true, but as he allowed the words to tumble in his mind he knew that he had to kill Slade.

Dick would kill Slade and then flee the scene. Slade deserved it, especially after allowing that kid to die. Dick wouldn't waste any time mobilizing Slade's resources to get back to the States so he could deactivate the nanobots. Even though he hadn't talked about them in years, he knew that Slade still didn't trust him with the nanobot technology.

Premeditated murder. That was what he was doing. Not a contract killing, just cold-blooded murder for no other reason other than the fact that Dick wanted him dead. It was like the time with Tony Zucco, only this was different. This was revenge for five years Dick could not take back, five years separated from his friends and the people he had made his family. But perhaps Dick needed to stop thinking of this as revenge and start thinking of this as a solution.


	6. Revelations

Dick didn't get that much sleep that night. He didn't trust any of them, even though Jackal was treating him like a "guest." Though, Dick supposed that people like Jackal and Slade didn't realize how they actually acted like assholes whenever they decided to treat someone "nice." Even when there was no shouting, or fists flying, there was always a feeling of uneasiness in the air. It was something that Dick could not quite describe, but it was a feeling he knew well nevertheless.

Once six o'clock rolled around Jackal invited him over for breakfast.

"Coffee?" Jackal offered, holding up the pot.

Dick grumbled, but accepted the offer. He needed something to wake him up.

"Would you like anything? Cream or—"

"My coffee is black, just like my soul."

"You're a cheerful one, aren't you?"

Dick shot him a dirty look. "Once this is over I'll let you live."

"You'll let me live?" Jackal chuckled. "Young man, I'm hard to kill. And I don't think you're the type to kill me. You only want Slade dead, so you'll only kill him."

Despite the fact that Dick thought Jackal was crazy, just like every other person Slade knew, Jackal's quick analyses of Slade and Dick's relationship was frighteningly accurate. Dick sipped his coffee and studied Jackal, wondering just how much Jackal really knew.

"Why Bane?" Dick asked. "You could have chosen anyone else to work for you. I wouldn't trust Bane."

"For many reasons, though... you don't know what's happened in Gotham, do you?"

People kept referring to this mysterious event in Gotham. For the hundredth time Dick wished that he had access to the Internet, or that people would stop being mysterious for the sake of annoying him. Most of the time he learned about current events weeks after they happened, even when he bothered Slade about it. If it was something really important, like news about the Justice League or the Titans, then Slade made sure that Dick didn't learn about it for a long time.

"You'll know in due time," Jackal replied. "Besides, it doesn't concern us. At the moment."

"I don't appreciate being lied to."

"Why be mad at me? You're away from Slade."

"I'm always angry, Jackal," Dick said suddenly, spinning around to face him. "I don't think you'll ever understand how angry I am. So what if Slade screwed you over years ago? At least he hasn't been screwing you over for every second, every minute, every hour of your day for _five years._ So don't."

"Ever thought of writing a book, kid? You seem to have a lot on your mind."

"Maybe if I get out of this alive, yeah."

Jackal smiled. "I can see why Slade took you in."

"Don't even joke like that."

"Say it however you will. It changes nothing."

"You have a smoke?" Dick asked distractedly, forcing himself to calm down.

Jackal took out a packet and drew out a cigarette for him. He lit it for Dick (probably didn't trust him with anything that could be a weapon, even a cigarette lighter) and gave it to him. Dick took it and ignored how his hands shook. As he smoked he knew that he would be coughing up a storm later, and that when the inevitable chaos happened later he could be wheezing while fighting, but he didn't care. The cigarette smoke curled out of his mouth, and a wave of sudden calmness swept over him.

"I was going to kill you, Dick, but you convinced me otherwise," Jackal said.

"Liar."

"I was just complimenting you, boy. Don't push your luck. Don't be so abrasive; I saved your life."

"Dude," Dick said, chewing the end of his cigarette. "I've been working for the king of deceptive kindness for five years. You ain't got nothing on him."

Coffee, cigarettes and good conversation—what a great way to start his day. He still didn't know what to think of Jackal, other than the fact that he seemed just as big of a douchebag as Slade. Granted, Slade was a douchebag unwilling to hurt children, so there were some key differences.

"So how did you get Bane to work for you?" Dick asked.

"I'm holding his venom supply hostage."

"Do you wanna die? Because that's a good way to go."

"It's a simple task: he's actually my bodyguard. If I, or you, fail to kill Slade, then I know that he can finish the job." Jackal smiled knowingly. "Besides, Bane has his reasons for helping me, even if he doesn't say it."

Considering the fact that Bane could give Batman a run for his money, Dick didn't doubt that. Everything about this was a recipe for disaster, though: Bane ultimately didn't follow any orders but his own. Jackal and Slade obviously had their own issues to work out, and Dick didn't want to be caught in the crossfire. Something was bound to go wrong, and surely everyone involved knew it. Jackal glanced at his phone.

"Come on, it's time to go." Jackal took out a gun, opened the magazine, and showed Dick that there was only one bullet inside. "Remember: one shot. That's all you got."

Dick reached for the gun, but Jackal held it back. "Just so you know, Dick: if you try to kill me there will be consequences."

"What kind of consequences?"

"The Titans may be in Slade's hands, but there are other people who can get hurt. Civilians. People in Gotham you know. If I die, then one of my men will hurt your…former friends."

Dick took the gun from him. He didn't need to hear any more of this crap. "Don't worry. I'll do it."

He placed the gun into the inside of his jacket, where his gun usually resided during a contract. Jackal smiled, his grin mirroring Slade's patronizing smile.

"Good man," Jackal replied. He gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"

* * *

 

_Relax. Take a deep breath. Rest your finger on the trigger and put your target in the crosshairs. That is all it takes. That was all it took._

_They got back from their latest contract to Jump City just before sunrise, though neither of them felt like sleeping even when they were clearly exhausted. Dick wondered just how long it would take for him to suffer a breakdown from their latest contract, where he had been yet again forced to murder someone. After every single one, thus far, he had thrown up or felt violently ill. Gotten a migraine. Felt so uneasy that he couldn't function._

_To his great surprise he didn't do any of the above. The two of them stood on the rooftop of the haunt to watch the sunrise. Wintergreen had brought them coffee some time ago, although Dick had let his coffee go cold._

_To his credit, Slade hardly gloated over a completed contract. He seemed just as morose as Dick felt sometimes, but his coldness was unsettling. Dick knew that Slade was thinking something, analyzing the situation, analyzing the contract, analyzing Dick's reaction. Then he would say something that would completely turn the situation on its head. That was what made Slade so terrifyingly human: his ability to slip in and out of his terrifying persona. Slade could tell a good joke. There were times when he was not insufferable. But no matter what he was doing, no matter how he delivered the punch line, he was always observing. Always analyzing. Always waiting to find a chink in Dick's emotional armor._

_"Are you all right?" Slade asked._

_"You and I both know that I won't be okay," Dick said, "that I'll never be okay. Is this what you wanted, Slade?"_

_Dick had been around Slade long enough to know that there was something more to all of this, that Slade didn't force him into an apprenticeship just for the hell of it. Dick flung out his arms, as though to show Slade what he had become._

_"You made me kill someone. Are you happy now?"_

_What was Slade going to do this time? Slade merely leaned against the wall and looked at Dick blankly. "Killing people was never my primarily goal."_

_"Are. You. Happy. Now?"_

_Why wouldn't Slade ever give him a clear answer to his questions? His answers were always convoluted._

_"I didn't make you my apprentice just so you could kill people. That was never the point." Slade turned to look at him._

_"Then what was the point?" Dick's arms trembled at his side. "Isn't this what you've been working towards for so long? Answer my goddamn question."_

_"Dick," Slade said slowly, "it's a lot more complicated than you think."_

_"Oh god, don't go sappy on me." Dick turned back towards the sunrise. "I know why you're making me kill people: it's because you can't stand being alone. So instead of being alone you decided to make someone suffer with you."_

_At what point did Slade think they were going to become friends? Being friends with someone wasn't just all about the fun times. It was also about calling your friend out on his shit. Dick turned and went back inside, though he paused, his hand resting on the frame of the door._

_"I feel sorry for you, Slade. I feel sorry that you felt the need to treat someone the way you treat me. But that doesn't change my feelings toward you."_

_"Dick!"_

_Dick turned around to look at Slade._

_"It's been rough, I know," Slade said. "Maybe I haven't been the greatest of teachers, but I was sincere when I said that I wanted a successor."_

_In that moment Dick wanted to murder Slade. The madness would only end with Slade's death. Dick would tie off loose ends and retreat into a life of silence. Oftentimes Dick wondered why Slade had chosen a Titan, someone who stood for justice. Someone who did not cross the line between criminal and hero. Now Dick believed he understood: a true villain wouldn't have saved those kids. A true villain wouldn't care, and perhaps a kid who considered himself a villain wouldn't have bothered to save kids. It wasn't corruption so much as necessity for Slade's business._

_Dick unclenched his hands and allowed the feeling to pass. No, he couldn't do it. Not even after all this time, he still wouldn't stoop to Slade's level. Not just yet._

_"Justify your actions however much you want. It won't change anything. You can't push me around like a kid. I won't believe your lies anymore."_

_Dick slammed the door shut behind him._

* * *

 

They all met in Bruges, far away from the touristy area so that there would be no witnesses. Dick still hadn't decided what he wanted to do. He could, conceivably, kill both of them, but Jackal only gave him one bullet. Kill Slade with the bullet, and then kill Jackal with his bare hands. If that was even possible.

Dick saw Slade standing alone in the empty square from the distance. They were too far away for him to see Slade's expression. Dick leaned towards the window, trying to make out Slade's mood.

"Tie his hands," Jackal ordered.

"What?" Dick jerked his hands away when one of Jackal's men reached for him.

"It's all part of the act, kid," Jackal said.

Grudgingly, Dick allowed Jackal's man to tie his hands behind his back. The car, as well as the three others accompanying them, pulled up next to Slade.

Slade was, predictably, pissed. He arrived by himself, dressed in plainclothes, though Dick was certain that he was wearing his Deathstroke uniform underneath his jacket. "Jackal."

"Good morning, Slade. Were you expecting me?"

"I'm not surprised."

Uh-oh. Although Slade wasn't outwardly pissed, Dick could tell just from Slade's body language that he was ready to rip Jackal to shreds.

"Let him go," Slade growled.

"Or else what?"

"Or else I'll kill you."

"Or maybe—"Jackal suddenly pulled Dick towards him and pressed a knife against his neck. "I'll kill him."

Dick was half-tempted to demand why Jackal was threatening him, then he supposed that it wasn't worth it. These guys were crazy. There would be no diplomatic solution. Just aggressive negotiation.

"I like this kid, Slade," Jackal said. "He's a lot different from the last one. That kid just wouldn't stop crying and crying—"Jackal pressed the knife harder against Dick's neck as Slade's hands formed fists. "Ahhh, don't make the same mistake as last time. I'll finish the job this time around."

What _had_ happened last time? All Dick really knew was that Jackal had threatened Slade's family. Someone may have died, probably one of Slade's kids.

"But I like him, so I'll let him off the hook today." Jackal cut off the ropes binding Dick's hands and pushed him towards Slade. "Go on, kid."

Dick felt as though Slade could see right through him. Slade knew that Dick could betray him, even if that same stoic expression graced his face. His legs felt unsteady as he walked towards Slade. He hated walking his back towards Jackal, but what other choice did he have? Slade started walking towards him and shot Dick a dirty look as they passed each other. Dick shoved his hands into his pockets to assuage his nervousness, although he knew that he should be reaching for his gun instead.

"We'll talk about your insubordination later," Slade said quietly. "Get back to Frannie's and we'll work things out from there."

Dick stopped walking, not caring that Slade's glare intensified. This would never be a true partnership, not with Slade yapping orders every other minute.

_This is it. I have to do it._

Before Dick could convince himself to stop he pulled out the gun and aimed it at Slade's back. Slade paused. He turned around slowly, his expression mildly bemused.

"So, this is how you repay me for everything I've done for you." Slade held his arms out, inviting Dick to shoot him. "Go ahead. Do it."

Why was everyone watching him? He couldn't shoot Slade with everyone watching him. Murder wasn't a spectacle. If he was going to murder someone, then Jackal should have at least sold tickets.

"Oh, I see," Slade said, turning back towards Jackal. "You honestly thought you could make him turn on me. Well, you can't. Dick, drop the gun."

Dick didn't do it. His fingers were locked around the gun, paralyzed by his nervousness.

"Dick," Slade said again, his voice hard, _"drop the gun."_

It would be so simple to kill Slade right now. If Dick controlled his shaking for just a few seconds, then he could shoot Slade. One of Dick's many problems would go away.

"Seems like everyone turns on you eventually, Slade," Jackal said pleasantly.

For one moment Dick allowed emotion to cloud his face. Hiding his emotions had become second nature to him, but sometimes he slipped up. In that moment he knew that Slade had pinpointed Dick's current weakness; he knew what was wrong and how to fix it.

"Do you know what he did?" Slade asked, gesturing towards Bane. "Do you know why Bane's here?"

Everyone was watching for Dick's reaction. The only person who seemed uninterested was Bane, who actually seemed annoyed that no one was killing anyone.

"They got in a fight, and Bruce Wayne is as good as dead," Slade said. "His back is broken. He may not recover." Slade pointed at Bane. "That's why Bane is here: he's running from every JLA member after him, and he's after you, Dick."

Dick lifted the gun and aimed at Bane. What was he thinking? This wouldn't help anyone, and he certainly couldn't kill Bane with a single shot. When he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion.

"What?"

Bruce's back was broken…Bruce was no longer Batman…Bruce couldn't be Batman…

Why was everyone relying on him to kill someone? Why was everyone watching him? Every word seemed unreal. How could he believe them? Everyone here was a pathological liar. Why should he believe Bane or Slade when all they were trying to do was control him?

"This is idiotic," Bane snapped. "I'll kill him myself."

Everything erupted into chaos. Dick had no idea what was going on, except that several people were suddenly screaming instructions at him. Slade telling him to turn around and kill Jackal, while Jackal screamed at him to kill Slade. Bane lunged towards him and yelled some expletive in Spanish, his muscles thickening as the famed venom pumped through his veins.

Events moved in slow motion. Dick bent his knees to avoid Bane, and bent his back to avoid Bane's outstretched hands, a motion that would have hurt anyone but a proper gymnast. Bane slammed into the ground behind him so hard that he cracked the cobblestones. Dick flipped over and landed nimbly, still holding onto the gun.

"What the hell did you do to Bruce Wayne?" Dick demanded.

"That's right, muchacho: I destroyed Bruce Wayne," Bane said, breaking into a grin behind his mask. "And before I kill him I will kill you."

Why would Bane do that? Why would he spend all this time and trouble to kill Dick just to get back at Bruce Wayne?

_Then that means…that means that Bruce still cares about me._

This sudden realization paralyzed Dick. There was still something to hope for, then, still something he could go back to if things ever went back to normal, or as back to normal as things could be. Bruce wasn't dead, but he was paralyzed, and Bane wouldn't come back to kill him until he had destroyed everyone Bruce cared about. If Bane knew who he was, then why did he bother asking for Dick's name? Why bother with any of this? Was it for show? Did Bane know, or did he change his mind about working for Jackal once he found out who Dick was?

Maybe this time he couldn't let Bruce save him, because Bruce physically couldn't anymore. Maybe this time Dick was the one who had to step up and protect Bruce. He couldn't do that masquerading as an assassin's apprentice.

Dick straightened and lifted the gun yet again. First he aimed at Bane, who was turning around to rush at Dick again. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that he could kill Bane with a single shot, but ordinary men could be killed. His stomach knotted uncomfortably, but he forced himself to ignore it. Bane rushed towards him. Dick heard his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Then, after a split second's decision, Dick aimed the gun at Slade and Jackal.

A thousand thoughts blazed through his mind. Slade and Jackal could accidentally murder each other, and Dick would be free. But someone was going to be a victor. Either way, if Slade killed Jackal then there would be hell to pay for allowing himself to be captured, though Jackal murdering Slade would open up a whole different world of troubles for him.

There was no time to think. This was not murder, but an act of self-preservation.

Dick fired the gun.

No one screamed. When he opened his eyes he saw blood everywhere. Everyone around him reloaded their guns and pointed them at him. Something warm had splattered all over his face and clothes. He dropped the empty weapon and collapsed to his knees, hardly believing his eyes.

Slade laid spread-eagled on the ground, his blood seeping into the cracks of the cobblestone street.


	7. A Murder, But Not a Crime

"He had it coming, he had it coming  
He only had himself to blame  
If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it  
I betcha you would have done the same."

-"Cell Block Tango." Chicago

* * *

 

Everyone stared at him, as though they couldn't believe that Dick had killed Slade. Dick was barely aware that he was still in danger, and that he only had seconds to act before the others would attack him.

Bane would kill him to get back at Batman, whatever his reasons were. Jackal had almost been shot and was covered in Slade's blood. He lowered his fist, as though he couldn't quite believe that Dick had done it. After a moment, however, his expression became guarded once more.

Dick's breathing became labored. Why couldn't he breathe? What was wrong with him?

Despite his shock, Dick's training kicked in. If he wanted to live, then he better act quickly. He reached out and picked up the gun he had dropped, the murder weapon.

"Don't move, boy," Jackal said. He had his gun trained on Dick, his pleasant manner gone in an instant. "Drop that gun."

Ever so slowly, Dick straightened, glaring at each villain in turn. Bane seemed surprised that Dick had killed Slade, even if it was on accident (had it been an accident?) but he looked ready to murder Dick again.

"You don't need to kill me, Bane," Dick said. He placed the empty gun against his head. Jackal raised an eyebrow. "I'm just as good as dead."

At first Dick wasn't sure if this would work. Bane probably didn't know that there had only been one bullet in that gun. And what would have happened if there was another bullet in that gun? He only wanted Bane to stop glaring at him like that. If Dick killed himself, then Bane wouldn't have the chance to kill him in front of Bruce. It was a stupid ploy, but considering the situation, would Dick have actually pulled the trigger?

"I don't think that'll solve your problem, boy," Jackal said.

"And what will?" Dick laughed uneasily. God, this whole situation seemed unreal. "Why do you care, Jackal?"

"I had a bounty on Slade's head," Jackal said. "I could pay you for it."

Dick lowered the gun. "Why the hell would I want to work for you?"

Bane considered both of them. Dick thought for sure that this stupid plan wouldn't work: Bane wouldn't actually believe that Dick wanted to kill himself. As though Bane just realized this, he started moving forward.

"Stop, Bane." Jackal turned his gun on Bane. "If you kill the boy or me then your demise is guaranteed. You'll never get any of your venom."

Of course, Bane was technically addicted to the venom that made him so powerful. Something was wrong about all this. Why would Jackal be helping him? Why would he threaten Bane?

"No—" Bane began.

"I'm the one in charge here!" Jackal snapped. "You will do as I say, or I will make it extra difficult for you to get your venom. And you," Jackal turned back towards Dick, "you get the hell out of here. Isn't there something important you have to do?"

The Titans. Dick had to go back to California and get the nanobots from Wintergreen. He had to shut down all of his raging emotions before he could feel sorry for himself.

Dick dropped the gun, his hands still shaking. His chest felt constricted as feelings he could not quite describe tumbled inside him. Relief, fear, guilt…grief.

Grief. How silly of him to feel grief. There was no reason to feel sorry that Slade was dead, because Slade got what he deserved. If Dick hadn't murdered him, then someone else would have.

_No,_ Dick thought. _Slade didn't deserve to die. Why did someone have to die? Why can't things ever be normal?_

Bane looked irritated, and for a moment Dick believed that Bane would ignore Jackal's orders. Then something came over him, something that Dick, in his tormented state of mind, could not describe.

"I'll be watching you, muchacho," Bane said.

To Dick's amazement Bane stepped down. What was going on? What did this mean? Wasn't Dick somehow part of Bane's revenge against Bruce Wayne? Why would Bane change his mind now? Dick didn't know, and he certainly wasn't in the right state of mind to find out.

Dick felt like vomiting. It took every ounce of his self-control not to break down and scream. No one was going to help him except himself.

"Let's move," Jackal said.

Everyone, to Dick's amazement and great suspicion, dispersed. Jackal caught Dick's arm tightly and yanked him forward.

"I almost thought you were going to shoot me, kid," Jackal said. "Glad you didn't. That was some move you pulled with Bane back there."

Dick looked at Jackal's grip on his arm and then up at him. When he spoke, it was in a cold, terse voice that did nothing to betray the utter chaos he actually felt.

"You're not the one I have a problem with," Dick replied.

"Do you feel relieved?" Jackal let go of his arm. "It's over. Both of us don't have to worry about Slade ever again."

Dick shot Jackal a dirty look. "I don't ever want to see you again. If I ever see you again I will kill you too."

Jackal rolled his eyes. "I know you won't kill yourself, and I know you won't kill me. Not with what you have at stake."

"Slade thought the same. He thought he was safe from me, but he was wrong."

Oh. That seemed to get Jackal thinking. Making threats when he was this tired might not be Dick's strength, but this time he meant it. When he spoke every syllable of his words were laced with anger, the kind of anger that could be controlled with malice.

"Well, then," Jackal said slowly. "Good luck, Dick."

"Why do you care?" Dick asked quietly.

"Because you'll always be a threat." Jackal smiled. "But anyone who hated Slade is a friend of mine, and I'd rather we be friends. Don't you?"

Dick didn't answer him. Instead he turned around and forced himself not to look at Slade's body again. Jackal was planning something, but what? Dick didn't want to stick around and find out. Right now he had other problems to deal with, and before he could deal with Jackal or Bane he had to go back home. That was where he was needed now.

At long last, Dick fled the scene.

* * *

 

Dick fled to Frannie's apartment, though no one was home when he burst in through the door. Maybe Frannie had already left home for Germany. If she had, then that was one last thing to worry about.

Dick didn't have time to grab Slade's cell phone off him, though he clearly hadn't been thinking ahead when he fired the gun. He needed to get out of the country; that was his first order of business. Dupont's men were undoubtedly still looking for Deathstroke and his apprentice, and now Bane was on a murderous rampage for Dick Grayson. Bruges wasn't safe.

_You killed him._

His suitcase was already packed. Just like Slade to make sure everything was ready to go for their flight from justice.

He went to the bathroom and scrubbed the blood away from his face. Dick changed clothes quickly, intending to burn the bloodied ones later. His stomach rumbled unpleasantly, but he drank water and forced himself not to vomit. Throwing up would only make him feel worse.

It took him a grand total of ten minutes to gather his few possessions and change into something more suitable for traveling. He went back out to the living room.

_You KILLED HIM._

Dick collapsed to his knees again, grabbed his hair and screamed. He curled up on the floor in the fetal position and kept screaming until his throat went hoarse. Dick hadn't even been aware that he could scream like this until the sound escaped from him in an uncontrollable rage. His head pounded painfully. His whole head felt like it was locked in a vice, as though someone or something was pinching his skull.

"Dick?"

Who was that? Frannie. It was Frannie. Who else would be here? Who else would just waltz in here and not shoot him?

"What happened, Dick?"

He started sobbing uncontrollably. Every time he killed someone he felt like crying, felt like apologizing, and even now he regretted Slade's death. Slade was just like any other person. Even though he had been horrible, he had still been a person with hopes and dreams and feelings. Dick had known Slade for five years, and with each consecutive year he had gotten to know Slade, for better or for worse.

Dick had grown used to Slade's idiosyncrasies. He had molded his life around Slade's mood just to survive, and now Slade was gone. Suddenly having agency in his own life felt startling, and Dick wasn't sure if he was ready for it yet.

Frannie shook his shoulders. "What happened?!"

Dick looked at her, as though he didn't quite believe that she was there. A wave of sudden vindictiveness washed over him. For once someone else felt panicked, someone else was in the dark and someone else would hear bad news.

"Slade is dead."

"What?"

Dick swallowed. He was aware that he was lying, but he didn't care. Frannie didn't have to know what really happened.

"Slade's dead," he said again, more firmly this time. "Jackal killed him."

"Sweet Lord," Frannie said. "It finally happened."

What happened now? Did Frannie really believe him? He couldn't believe that she believed him. In that moment he felt weak. He was aware that he was weak, crying like this in front of Frannie, crying like this when he was a grown man.

He placed a hand on his forehead, silent tears falling down his face. God, why was he crying? Did he honestly feel sorry for Slade's death, or was he sad that he had taken a life?

Frannie, on the other hand, had collapsed in a nearby chair. She was taking this much better than Dick was, though perhaps she was used to her friends dying. Her eyes merely stared off into space, and for a few minutes the two of them shared a quiet moment.

"Dick," Frannie said cautiously, "are you all right?"

It seemed like that was all everyone was asking these days. Why were people always asking him if he was all right? Dick would never be all right, at least not when he was around Slade. Even when Slade was not insufferable, he was still not the greatest human being. Dick wondered if he had understood Slade the most, besides Slade's former wife. Wintergreen was Slade's friend, but had he ever been on the receiving end of Slade's anger?

_Come on, Grayson, pull yourself together._

Dick wiped the tears away from his face. "Don't take care of me, Frannie. I don't need anyone to take care of me."

Frannie was nice, but she was nice like Wintergreen had been nice. Ultimately she had worked with Slade and therefore could not be trusted.

"Dick—"

"He's dead," Dick said, wiping away the last of his tears. "Slade may not have been my friend, but he was a person. I never wanted to kill him or anyone else."

_Murderer._

"Are you going to get up?" Frannie asked.

Dick didn't move. He didn't want to move. How could he move? His mind was still processing everything that had happened to him in the past forty-eight hours, and he had absolutely no idea how to deal with his emotions. There was no one he could turn to for help, no one to turn to for guidance, no one he could trust.

Dick didn't know what to do. One part of him was glad Slade was dead because most of his problems were gone. He didn't have to worry about Slade bullying him ever again. On the other hand, he had to worry about the fallout. He had to worry about what Jackal was going to do, what Bane was going to do.

He had to get up. He had to keep on living, even when he didn't want to. Otherwise Slade would have won, even in death.

"I suppose you have no reason to care about him now," Frannie said quietly. "I'll be going now to take care of the body, which I assume you haven't taken care of in your state of mind. If you leave while I'm gone, then so be it. I understand."

Cold as those words were, they were the kindest ones he had heard in a long time. Frannie was Slade's friends. It was fitting that she should be the one to take care of the body. There was no reason she had to continue keeping Dick a prisoner.

"Thank you," Dick managed to croak.

Frannie left him there lying on the floor, but Dick didn't care. He didn't care about anything. He felt like vomiting, but instead he just stayed there, his cheek pressed against the cool tiles. He felt like he didn't deserve happiness, like he didn't deserve to have some comfort in life because he willfully killed another human being.

_Murderer._

All these years he wanted Slade dead, but he never dared voice these opinions out loud. He had never wanted to kill Slade, but he had wanted the madness to end. But he didn't want Slade's death on his conscience. Perhaps after everything he had been through, after all those people he had killed on Slade's orders, it didn't matter that he had killed one more person, but to Dick it did. So long as he didn't kill outside of Slade's orders, then there was still some hope left for him. At least that was what Dick had hoped.

There would be time to work out his feelings later. There was no time to sleep, no time to think beyond what was necessary to stay alive. Frannie would take care of things. She was the only one who would take care of things now in Bruges.

Dick pushed himself to his elbows and looked around the empty apartment. Frannie had told him that he could leave whenever he wanted to and that she wouldn't stop him. What could she do? She wasn't bound to Slade's word like Dick was. By the time he arrived back in Jump City Wintergreen would surely know what had happened, if he didn't know what had happened already.

Dick stood up and wiped away his tears with the back of his sleeve. There was nothing left for him now. Why should he stick around? No one was here to tell him otherwise. Enemies—Slade's enemies—could knock down the door any minute now. It wasn't safe here. Part of him wished he warned Frannie before she left, but she wasn't stupid. She knew Slade's business, and she must know that there were people after Dick now.

He looked out of the sliding glass door, staring at Bruges' skyline briefly before picking up his dufflebag to leave the apartment for good.

Freaking Bruges.

* * *

 

"Passport, please," the ticket agent said.

Dick handed his passport to her nervously. He knew that it would work, although with Slade dead who knew how long his passport would work? The woman flipped it open, glanced at the name, and then glanced at him again.

"Step in front of the camera please, Mr. Wilson," the woman said, gesturing towards the line where he was supposed to stand. "Look at the camera, please."

He nearly blinked as the camera flashed at him.

"Thank you," the woman said. "Next, please."

No one gave him a second glance as he went on his way through security, though his heart hammered anxiously every time he passed a security guard or TSA agent. No one ever got through security this easily, and certainly not him. What if there was some kind of tracking device on that falsified passport, and there were people waiting for him back in the States? What if every time that passport was swiped one of the many bribed airport agents was notified of his presence and made sure he got through safely? Well, maybe he didn't want to know. He forced his thoughts toward the task at hand, which was finding his gate in this unfamiliar airport.

After leaving Frannie's apartment Dick had found a train that took him straight to the airport. He only carried a dufflebag with him full of two days' worth of clothes, but more importantly, evidence that would prove that he was innocent: Slade's laptop, a portfolio of notes and blueprints. That was all he could salvage. There would be more evidence at the Haunt if Wintergreen didn't destroy it first.

Not that Dick cared about his innocence at this point in time. Once his friends' lives were out of danger, then Dick didn't care what happened to him. If he ended up in jail, then he ended up in jail. At least then Slade would no longer be tormenting him.

It had been a sad and lonely five years. Right now he knew that the best thing to do was go to Jump City to fix things. And afterwards…well…he didn't know what was going to happen.

Once he found his gate Dick settled into a chair away from everyone else. All these people around him, and none of them knew who he was. He had a late-night flight, so the terminal wasn't full of people. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he didn't feel like eating. A meal would be served on the flight; he could wait until then.

He looked like a real mess. His dark hair was unkempt. Dark bags hung underneath his eyes. People were probably glancing at him, judging him, silently accusing him. Why wouldn't they? He was a criminal, and no matter how much he didn't want to be he was a murderer. There was no escaping it.

_I killed him._

Dick leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. He couldn't cry again. Not now, not in front of all these people. It was fine to cry in private, but in public it was just another form of weakness.

"Flight to Atlanta International now boarding," the airport agent announced. "First class now boarding."

Well, that was him. He stood up and joined the line of people, feeling very out-of-place among the businessmen with his jeans and sweatshirt and worn dufflebag. He had a two hour layover in Atlanta before going home to Jump City. Home. What a weird concept.

He boarded the plane and smiled faintly as the ticket agent once again affirmed his false name. There was nothing he could do about his passport until he got back in the United States, unless he wanted to risk deportation.

To be perfectly honest, Dick wished that he had gotten a coach ticket instead of first class, but the way Slade's accounts had worked had gotten him a first-class ticket. Best not to make a scene if he could. He could have called Slade's personal pilot, but he wanted to keep Slade's death a secret. Besides, he didn't like the pilot much and preferred not to deal any of Slade's friends.

Once he boarded the plane he saw an older woman struggling to place her bag in an overhead compartment.

"Here, let me help you with that," Dick said, taking the lady's bag and putting it up in storage.

"Thank you, young man."

He smiled weakly. It was awful knowing what he had done, the horrible crimes Slade had made him commit, compared to how he wanted to help people. "No problem, Ma'am."

He settled down in his seat, already wanting to fall asleep before takeoff. He didn't care that the first-class seat was not as comfortable as a bed, or that people were still boarding the plane. Dick hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours, and he was dead tired. It was as if he hadn't slept much over the past five years and finally had the time to make up for it.

There were crying babies in the back, but he didn't mind. He rather liked the sound. While he felt anxious around people all these strangers, they helped anchor him to reality. The noise made him feel like, for once, he was in a completely normal situation with completely normal people.

He had over a ten hour flight. When they came over here he had boarded a private plane with Slade, so they wouldn't deal with people. The woman on his right didn't pay attention to him as she opened her novel. Dick leaned his head against the window and ignored the flight attendant's mandatory safety procedure.

For the first time in forty-eight hours he fell into a deep sleep, his head resting against the airplane window.


	8. Inheritance

What little rest Dick gained from his long airplane flights he lost instantly when he arrived in Jump City. Usually there would be a car waiting for him, but this time no one was waiting for him. However, he knew Jump City so well that it didn't matter. He could walk home. After sitting on a plane for almost twenty hours he wanted to walk around.

He had absolutely no idea what the date was, and he didn't care. The time difference disoriented him. But what difference did it make in the end?

From what he could tell it was just after sunrise. People were already on their early morning commute, and no one paid attention to him. Dick made his way down the familiar road to Slade's Haunt, which was located in a sketchy part of town he had learned to call his home. He even knew most of the homeless people who lived near Slade's place. Sometimes he talked to them, desperate to talk to someone else besides Slade and Wintergreen. When he had cash on him Dick sometimes gave them some, or bought them food on his way home. Over the years most of them had grown to like him. They greeted him as he passed by.

"What's up, kid?" Bernie, one of the homeless guys, asked. "Where's that guy you hang around with?"

Dick looked at him distractedly. Of course, most of the time Slade walked him home when Dick walked around in civvies. "He's not coming back. I'm getting ready to leave this place. I don't think I'll be around anymore."

"Good. You've never looked happy here."

Once upon a time Dick had taken the time to talk to Bernie, and made him tell his story. Dick had refused to tell his own, though he was certain that Bernie and his friends knew that something was wrong. This confirmed it.

"Here," Dick said, handing him a wad of money. "I don't need it. Goodbye, Bernie."

Before the guy could say anything Dick continued on his way. Dick looked up at the Haunt as he approached the building. He had considered this his home for five years, even if he didn't want to admit it. Even now he considered it home. Dick gritted his teeth, took out his keycard and went inside.

Wintergreen hadn't changed the locks. That was a good sign; at least Dick hoped that it was. Dick stepped inside and dropped his duffle bag on the floor. A faint cloud of dust rose into the air. Wintergreen hadn't been cleaning? That was weird.

"Wintergreen?" he called out. "Will?"

It felt weird calling him Will. For most of his time here, Dick treated Wintergreen as if he were Slade, or at least that was how Slade instructed him to treat Wintergreen. In reality Wintergreen was the only person Dick could trust to a certain degree, and sometimes Dick called him by his first name when Slade wasn't around.

No one answered him. Some of the security cameras came to life as Dick walked past them, though of course they did nothing except watch. Walking through the empty, silent hallways was eerie. The gears weren't even moving. Did they automatically shut down after Slade died? Were they even on such a sophisticated system?

The weapons room came up on his right. A thought occurred. He pushed the door open, surprised that it wasn't locked, and went inside. This was where Slade kept most of his guns and ammunition, as well as the things inside Dick's utility belt when he wasn't on a mission.

One of the wall sections spun around as he approached, displaying a wide array of guns for him to choose from. Hmmm. Dick took the smallest one and put it inside his coat. Just because Jackal let him go didn't mean that anything was over between them. Dick had a gut feeling that someone would be paying him a visit soon enough, and when they did he would try to be ready.

"Wintergreen!" Dick called out again.

What if Wintergreen was out on an errand? Dick hadn't told anyone that he would be back in Jump City at this time. He could be out shopping for groceries or whatever. Dick left the room and headed for the main room.

When he arrived he found Wintergreen sitting in the main room, where the four projections of the Titans' bloodstream usually resided. Today the large screens were all blank. They hadn't shown the Titans' bloodstreams for about four years now. Recently they had been showing security camera footage of their targets, blueprint projections, more useful things.

Wintergreen sat in a chair, and though Dick wasn't near him he could tell that Wintergreen had been drinking. While Dick had never seen Wintergreen outside of his butler-esque element, and he certainly hadn't seen Wintergreen tipsy. Unlike Bruce or Alfred, Slade and Wintergreen preferred to hide their weaknesses. Dick had never seen Slade drunk, even though he knew that Slade often went out to drink himself silly. Dick had never seen Wintergreen outside of the Haunt, aside from the few times he had been allowed to assist Wintergreen with the grocery shopping. But now things were different.

Wintergreen got out of his chair as Dick approached. Being in the Haunt was weird without Slade there in general. True, Dick had been left alone in this awful place many times, completely alone and with Wintergreen, but now that Slade was dead everything just seemed so much stranger. Dick could not find the words to properly explain himself.

"Dick, I know why you're here—" Wintergreen began.

Dick lifted the gun from his holster and pointed it at Wintergreen. "Give me the trigger."

Wintergreen didn't move.

 _"Give me the trigger!"_ Dick shouted. His voice echoed in the large room.

"Don't shout, Richard," Wintergreen said in his calming voice.

"Don't shout?" Dick echoed. "You and I both know that I have reason enough the feel the way I do now. I will shout all I fucking want."

"You and I both know that shouting will do nothing."

 _"You helped him keep me a prisoner!"_ Dick shouted. "You could have helped me escape, but you didn't! You could have given me the trigger so I could escape, but you didn't! If you really felt sorry for me, then you should have acted like it! I don't care how nice you consider yourself to be! You're not my friend, Wintergreen. You never were, and you never will be."

Shouting wouldn't solve any problems, but boy did it feel good to finally scream.

"I don't consider you my friend either, Dick," Wintergreen said. "But God above, I consider you a human being. And I felt sorry for you. Don't worry. I'll give you the controller. I have no reason to kill the Titans."

Dick paused. Wintergreen was like Alfred in the sense that he preferred to call Dick by his real name. Dick didn't know why he respected Wintergreen for it, at least at first. A few years after the apprenticeship began Dick supposed that he appreciated it because Slade had no regard for Dick's preferences. Dick was a nickname that only people close to him called him. Dick didn't mind being called Richard, but when Slade said it the name sounded clunky. Wrong. Too familiar for Dick's liking.

Though he respected Wintergreen, he suddenly hated the guy's guts. Before Dick could stop himself he punched Wintergreen in the face. He ignored the pain in his knuckles and the blood on his hand.

"You helped him," Dick said. "I don't know if I can forgive you for that."

"I don't need forgiveness," Wintergreen replied. "I understand. Maybe I don't deserve it."

Wintergreen spoke in a trembling voice, his words slurring slightly. The longer Dick looked at him the more he realized how disheveled Wintergreen looked. How pathetic. In the end everyone was pathetic.

"You killed him, didn't you?" Wintergreen asked. "You lied to Frannie."

"Are you going to kill me for it?"

Old Wintergreen may be, but Dick knew that Wintergreen was ex-military. If Wintergreen wanted to shoot him, then Dick knew that he could. But Wintergreen wasn't like Slade. He wasn't vindictive, and while he could be angry he knew that he had very little reason to be angry at Dick, considering everything that had happened.

"Slade wouldn't have wanted me to."

Both of them had been caught up in this awful thing for five years. Yet Wintergreen could have left if he had wanted to. Dick never had a choice in the matter. It seemed as though Wintergreen was taking all this into consideration.

Wintergreen stood up and wiped blood away with the back of his hand. "I'm getting too old for this."

Dick tossed the gun aside. "He let a little girl die, Wintergreen. I couldn't let him get away with hurting kids anymore." A lump formed in his throat. "Not me or anyone else. No more."

Tears threatened to overtake him again, but he forced himself not to cry. At least Wintergreen didn't mock him for his tears, or for any weaknesses Dick had shown over the years.

"There's something you need to see," Wintergreen said.

"What?" Dick eyed him suspiciously. "Is it a trap?"

"No, Dick, this isn't a trap. I would never do that to you. You know that."

There was a lot that Dick didn't know about Wintergreen, but he supposed that he did know that much about Wintergreen.

"Before you leave the Haunt, you need to see something. It's not a trap. There are no tricks. At least none that I know of." Wintergreen reached out, as though to set a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but then he stopped himself halfway through. "Afterwards I'll give you the controller. I know you have no reason to trust me. But I think you'll want to see this."

Wintergreen pressed his hand against a section of the wall. A thumbprint scan emerged and flashed green as it confirmed Wintergreen's identity. A section of the wall slid open.

This was the robot room. Part of Slade's office that was dedicated to designing and building the Sladebots that Dick hated so much. There were a couple of desks in one corner of the room where he usually worked with the holographic robot blueprints. Fixing them, designing them, improving them…all of that was done here.

An army of Sladebots stood before him. Dick tensed, expecting them to run straight at him, but they didn't move. Indeed, as Dick stepped into the room, the Sladebots straightened. Dick paused, his hands held casually behind his back. Why not test a theory?

"You there," Dick said, pointing at a Sladebot. "Come here."

The Sladebot moved. It stood just three feet away from him.

Dick punched its face in. The robot did not move, and none of the others moved to attack him. How strange. He was so used to them attacking him, or at least moving to restrain him, that it was unnerving to see them like this. Blood dripped from his knuckles and his hand pounded faintly with pain.

"Slade left a message for you here," Wintergreen said. "I suggest that you watch it, even if you don't want to."

Wintergreen pushed a button, which turned on a large television screen. Slade—without his mask—appeared on screen. There was something about the way Slade appeared that made Dick pause. Perhaps it was the expression of incredible weariness on Slade's face, or how he didn't appear angry.

"If you are receiving this message, Dick, then I am dead. I don't know if you're eighteen, twenty-five or forty. Truth is, I don't know when I'll be dead, or how you feel about me now in comparison to how you felt about me when you were fifteen. But this message is supposed to be for you, as I have finally gotten my last will and testament together.

"I leave everything at the Haunt to you, save for the few things I have already set aside for Will. The Sladebots are programmed to follow your commands after they have received confirmation of my death. All of the locks will now respond to your fingerprints. And I suppose that you will want this." Another section of the wall slid out. The trigger—the stupid, stupid trigger—lay inside the drawer, covered in dust, as though no one had touched it in years. "Do with it what you like. There is no dead man's switch."

Slade was giving him the trigger? Just like that?

"I know what you're probably thinking right now. You probably don't believe me capable of such compassion. I can destroy your friends, but then what? You would never continue my legacy, not unless I made certain that you would continue working long after I'm gone. But a promise is a promise, even if I don't like it.

"If you are seeing this, Dick, then you are the new Deathstroke. All of my contact information will be forwarded to you. You may continue as Deathstroke or Ravager. I'm sure everyone will know who you are by now, and will have given you the respect you deserve. I hope by this time you have gotten to know me as a person, and that you now respect what I do for a living. I know that's a lot to ask of you, especially after everything we've already been through, and considering the troubles that undoubtedly lie ahead. If I am dead, by either someone else's hand, or perhaps even your own, then I hope that my death will serve some greater purpose. Do not expect an apology for what I've done to you. There is none, and I don't think I will ever apologize.

"Take that as you will. I only ask that you do one thing for me. Not as or for Deathstroke, but as Dick Grayson for Slade Wilson. You know that I have children, or had children, and that I am mostly likely survived by my son and former wife. My son's name is Joseph, and my former wife is Adeline Kane. Despite legal issues, I was able to leave them some inheritance. In my desk there will an envelope with further instructions.

"That's all I have to say, Dick. I hope by this time you have gained enough skills to keep my criminal empire running, and that in time you will take on another apprentice to fill your place. Goodbye, Dick."

The screen went blank.

Dick found himself wandering around the Haunt in a daze. Everything felt numb. He was exhausted, hungry, stressed out beyond belief. He didn't feel like eating or sleeping until he processed everything that had happened to him.

Crying wouldn't do him any good. He had already broken down and screamed until he couldn't anymore back in Frannie's apartment. In fact, he felt that his numbing shock following Slade's last will and testament prevented him from crying at all.

He stopped in front of Slade's office door. This wasn't his workroom, but his study. Dick never came in here, even when the door was unlocked, because Slade didn't want him knowing about his plans. Dick stepped into the room.

There was something on Slade's desk. Dick turned on a nearby lamp.

Keys that Dick had never seen before lay on the desk. The few vehicles that Slade used were always in the garage, and Dick had no idea where Slade kept the keys. Dick never got to drive anything, except those rare occasions he had to for a mission.

They were motorcycle keys. Slade didn't drive a motorcycle. He didn't even own one. There was a slip of paper next to the keys. Dick unfolded the paper and found Slade's handwriting scribbled on it.

_To replace the R-Cycle. You're twenty-one, you deserve your own set of wheels._

"You son of a bitch."

He clutched the keys so tightly that the sharp edges bit into his hand. Just what kind of a villain was this man?

_All my knowledge, all my power, all for you._

Slade meant it. God above, no matter how awful, how incredibly evil he had been, he meant it when he said that he was looking for a successor. Someone to follow in his footsteps, someone to leave everything to.

Just as Slade said in his video will, there was a Manila envelope waiting for him in the top desk drawer. Several official-looking documents slid out as he dumped the contents onto the desk.

"Thank you for listening to his last will and testament," Wintergreen said as he entered the room. "I know you didn't want to hear it."

"He's done worse."

When did Slade draw up that will? Dick couldn't tell how long it had been since Slade made it. When Dick was eighteen, maybe? Obviously enough time had passed that Slade felt he had won. Enough time had passed to make Slade believe that he cared for Dick like a son.

"I don't suppose you're part of my inheritance," Dick said sarcastically.

"No," Wintergreen replied quietly. "I'm not. I'll be leaving now." Wintergreen held out his hand. "I don't suppose you want me to stay?"

Would Wintergreen stay with him? Get him through this bizarre phase of his life? Wintergreen was the only person who would really understand him. Even if Dick went back to Gotham to talk to Alfred, Alfred wouldn't understand him. Dick was an adult now, and was not the kid that Alfred had known.

"No," Dick said in a choked voice. "You can't help me now. I can only help myself."

Would he be able to help himself?

"Then I guess this is where we say goodbye. Can we at least part on good terms?" Wintergreen kept his hand out.

Dick's vision blurred with sudden tears. He felt sorry for punching Wintergreen in the face. Even though Wintergreen had helped Slade he was also one of the few reasons Dick hadn't gone crazy. In his own, silent, thoughtful way, Wintergreen had been kind. He had watched Dick grow from a teenager to a young adult. When you spent five years with someone, even in a situation as difficult and unique as this, it was hard not to learn how to care for them.

Dick shook Wintergreen's hand. "Goodbye, Will."

Wintergreen left him alone.

Dick set the envelope back on Slade's desk and went back to the main room. Dick's hand hovered over the control panel in the main room. He knew where the self-destruct button was. All he had to do was press it and blow this hellhole to bits, and he would never have to return here again. But he knew that he couldn't. Not when there was so much evidence here.

He clutched the trigger tightly in his hand. After five years of being held captive by a single controller, this was how it all ended. Not with a bang, or a whimper, but a quiet death. An accidental death. No, an accidental murder.

"You had to say it, didn't you?" Dick shouted at the blank television screens. "Your will, I mean. You had to have the last word. You always do."

Would he give the papers and the money to Slade's family? After everything Slade had done for him? But why couldn't Slade just say it out loud? That he was just a bitter lonely asshole who kidnapped him because he was too big of an asshole to make real friends. True friends who didn't enable each other to kill people.

"This isn't how I wanted it to end," Dick whimpered, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Why does it have to end like this…why…why…?"

He couldn't destroy the Haunt. Not after he had learned to call it home. Even though this place harbored so many bad memories, he had no other place to go. He couldn't go back to Gotham. Not like this. Not right now.

Dick slumped into the chair that Slade always occupied and leaned against the armrest, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Now that he sat there, in Slade's empty chair overlooking the Haunt, he finally understood just how lonely Slade must have felt. All this power, all this technology, all this knowledge, all this wide open space, but no one besides Wintergreen to share it with. And Wintergreen had just been a friend, someone who didn't want to inherit a criminal empire.

Wow. What a sad, lonely existence. How disgusting.


	9. This Too Shall Pass

Dick ate and drank nothing. Instead he sat at Slade's computer and smoked a pack of cigarettes. With every passing cigarette he knew that he would regret it later, but he had to keep himself awake. Why would he want to sleep in this place again? Why spend more time here than he needed to?

There were so many things he had to do now that Slade was dead, and he knew that he wouldn't get it all done in one day. First he opened the program Slade used as a single inbox for all of his email addresses and checked Slade's emails. Were there people whose contracts hadn't been fulfilled? Dick read through the emails carefully, and once he found one that would be unfulfilled he immediately accessed Slade's online bank account. Or, rather, one of the several he had used. Then he wired the money back to the client with an apology email. Then he sent out a mass email informing all clients that he would no longer be providing any mercenary services, and that any quarrels they had with Slade were now moot.

Most of what Dick did in the next few hours was incredibly boring, mundane work, but work that had to be done nevertheless. Shutting down the Haunt would take several days, as he had to destroy the Sladebots and all other blueprints, so that no one could use Slade's technology.

The ashtray next to him filled with ash as the hours passed. He wasn't aware of how much time had passed; Dick was only concerned with shutting down Slade's empire. This was worse than any other all-nighter that Dick had pulled, even when he was Robin.

After several hours (or had it been days?) on the computer Dick finally leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting towards the nanobot controller resting on the counter.

 _I need to get that back to the Titans,_ he thought.

He shut down the main computer and headed towards the garage. He turned on the motorcycle. Before getting on it he twisted off Slade's insignia and tossed it away.

He drove out onto the road, the garage door automatically shutting behind him. Although he hadn't driven a motorcycle for a couple of years, the controls came back to him easily. Muscle memory and all that jazz. And the fact that Slade had designed this cycle exactly like the R-Cycle, possibly so that Dick would warm up to the idea of owning a new cycle.

It looked like the night had passed while he was on the computer, for the sun was rising in the east. Had it really been that long? He weaved in and out of traffic rather recklessly, occasionally earning a few angry honks from people he cut off.

Some of the Titans should be awake by now. Dick knew that the original Titans had broken up and moved on during the years. Cyborg was still their leader, but he knew that Starfire flitted in and out of Jump City. Sometimes, while in the main room of Slade's Haunt, he saw her characteristic streak of green light in the sky window as she passed by. Other young heroes had joined the Titans, both in this western establishment as well as the new Tower in the east. Sometimes Dick even heard the rumor that a new Robin was part of the Titans now, though apparently he operated both out of Gotham and Jump City whenever it suited him. Dick hoped that this Robin was having a better career than Dick had.

After five years the Titans still hadn't changed their hidden route to the front door: a hidden road that emerged from the water on a particular stretch of road. He drove right up to the Tower, knowing full well that the alarms would sound as soon as they realized who he was.

 _Slade never made me go up to the front door and attack them,_ Dick thought. _At least he never made me do that._

He blinked as the world suddenly blurred. When he looked up at the Tower from this angle he got a sense of vertigo. Wow, that was rather high, wasn't it?

The front door slid open. One of the Titans stood in front of him. Dick squinted. He didn't recognize this Titan. Must be one of the younger ones. She wore a yellow-and-black costume he assumed was made to look like a bumblebee.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same," Dick replied. "Is Cyborg here? Or any of the original Titans?"

"You can't talk to them until you tell me why you're here."

He didn't have time for this. Well, technically, he now had all the time in the world, but Dick felt the need to make up for lost time. His voice, when he next spoke, held a desperate edge, and cracked slightly with emotion.

"Please," he said, unhooking the bag from his shoulder, "this isn't a trick or anything. They know who I am. Tell them I'm back."

He held out the bag to the girl, who looked reluctant to take it. His head spun, and he slowly became aware of a painful headache that seemed to squeeze his skull from all sides. His tongue felt dry and cracked, and his stomach nauseous. He didn't feel well at all.

"Tell them I'm sorry. So sorry. It's all over, and they don't have to worry about me anymore. No, on second thought I don't want to see them. They can have this. It's all the information they would possibly want on Slade. I'll be on my way. I don't want to be here. They probably don't want to see me. Why would they want to see me? Why…?"

Tears fell down his face as he spoke, though he was barely aware of them. He shook the bag, desperately wanting her to take it away from him. Comprehension dawned slowly on the girl's face as she realized who he was. Her wings went erect, her face scrunched into a defensive frown and her hands went to the stingers on her hips.

He dropped the bag, and the evidence spilled out all over the front porch. His headache rose to a thundering crescendo, and he couldn't take it anymore. The girl didn't have time to catch him as he collapsed, finally giving in to the awful sleep deprivation he had put himself through. As his world darkened he heard the girl call for help.

* * *

 

Flashing red and blue lights greeted him when he awoke. Dick was vaguely aware that he was strapped to a gurney and that an oxygen mask was strapped to his face. He lifted his head slightly and saw cop cars just outside the ambulance, where he was currently residing. A paramedic was at his side, inserting an IV carefully into Dick's arm.

"Hey," Dick said weakly, trying to sit up.

"No," the paramedic said, setting a hand on his shoulder gently. "Stay there. I'm giving you an IV because you're severely dehydrated. When was the last time you ate or drank something?"

"I don't know. What happened?"

"You collapsed in front of Titans Tower, so they called an ambulance."

The flashing lights told Dick that the cops had showed up with the ambulance. Dick knew why the cops were there. He was a criminal, so the Titans would treat him as such. It was only natural, after everything Dick had done.

"Have you ingested an excessive amount of alcohol?" The paramedic asked.  
"Or any drugs besides the cigarettes we found in your pocket?"

"No, not that I know of."

"When was the last time you slept, Sir?"

Sir. People calling him sir. What a laugh. "I don't remember."

The paramedic ticked something off on his clipboard.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"Let's just keep you on that IV until you're properly hydrated. Get some sleep, eat some food and you'll be okay." The paramedic frowned slightly. "I also noticed several contusions and a possible concussion—"

"That doesn't surprise me," Dick replied. He looked at the police cars again, and to his surprise saw Cyborg talking to the cops. He couldn't hear what Cyborg was saying above all the noise and he couldn't read lips. "Do you know what will happen to me?"

"The Titans are sorting things out with the police," the paramedic replied. "But right now you need to sleep, eat and drink. If you feel too weak we can feed you intravenously—"

"Don't do that," Dick said at once. "Don't feed me through a tube. I don't want that."

Did he really look that bad? Nowadays he was barely aware of his own health. No matter what he did—eating healthy or exercising or whatever—he always felt exhausted. He had come to accept that that was his norm.

"All right. You do need to eat later, though. Your hunger contributed to your collapse, as well as the dehydration and sleep deprivation. You need to take better care of yourself."

Take better care of himself. He didn't even know where to begin, since all he wanted to do was…well…nothing. He laid his head back on the pillow and sighed. Eventually Dick drifted back to sleep.

* * *

 

_Time seemed to move backwards for him in his dreams. Not in the sense that people walked backwards, or spoke spells backwards, or cackled in a bizarre manner, but how he relived his freshest memories from the past few years._

_In his lucid dreaming, he remembered asking Slade before if he was happy now that Dick was killing people. When he spoke then, it was with resignation. When he spoke with Slade now, in this dream-like state, he was aware of both the past and the future, yet when he spoke it was in the present._

_They were arguing. There was always an argument with Slade, even when nothing was said. When nothing was said they merely expressed their frustration in different ways, until both of them annoyed the other so much that nothing but a shouting match and a fistfight were necessary._

_What had started it? Dick didn't know. Anything Slade did could spark an argument, and it didn't even matter why it had started._

_The dreamlike memory seemed off, somehow, in his lucid state. The exact physical details were off; the numbers on the clocks were all different, no object seemed completely defined, yet the words spoken were exact. As he became aware that this was a dream, a memory relived in strange details, the world around him solidified._

_He was back in the Haunt, in the main room, his body standing defensively in front of Slade, harsh words tumbling out of his mouth in a scream._

_"You can't get away with this!" Dick shouted. "You know that in the end I won't EVER be Deathstroke. I will leave everything you've ever done in dust once you've kicked the bucket."_

_"What do you possibly hope to do?" Slade demanded. "What do you hope to achieve once you've left me, hmm? You'll never get employment anywhere else. You have no education besides what I've given you, no money besides what you've earned, and would you use that money to pay for an education? You can't bring that money anywhere else without bringing attention to yourself. And even then, everyone will know that you worked for me. You have no other choice but to follow my path, my profession, not unless you want to be out in the street with no connections and nothing to your name. You've killed people, Dick. Wayne won't accept that. He won't accept you. The Titans won't accept you."_

_But Dick had no choice! He didn't know the people he killed. While he felt sad for their deaths he didn't know those people. If they died, then so what? He felt sad for himself, certainly, but in the end he was selfish. He didn't want the Titans to die, so much that he was willing to kill other people for it, even if it hurt him._

_Everything Slade said was true. Those exact words had ruminated in Dick's mind for a long time, though he had been too terrified to dwell on them too long. He knew exactly how Slade was screwing his future over, and the fact that Slade was saying it out loud was too much for Dick._

_Dick took a deep breath, and said it before he became too scared to stop himself. "F-Fuck you."_

_There. He said it._

_"What did you say?" Slade didn't even sound angry. Merely surprised that Dick had dared utter such an imprecation._

_"I said fuck you."_

_The second time he said he felt more confident. He had insulted Slade many times before, but Dick had always stopped short of using this kind of language, though it was mostly out of an effort to keep himself out of trouble. Slade straightened to his full height, his anger simmering as Dick's words sunk in. This was it, Slade was going to kick his butt._

_"Apologize. Now."_

_"Why should I apologize to you?"_

_Slade moved to slap him, but Dick was ready. He caught Slade's wrist and managed to hold him off, his own arm shaking with effort. Slade's eye widened. He seemed to have forgotten that Dick could now hold his own. Dick eventually let go, and Slade took the opportunity to hit him._

_"Don't ever say that again," Slade snapped. "I don't call you a little shit, do I?"_

_"I'm sure that's what you're thinking every time I don't do what you tell me to do."_

_The expression on Slade's face was one Dick had seen many times: an expression of complete exasperation. "Accept it, Dick: without me, you would be nothing. Without Wayne you would have been nothing. Right now you are incapable of making your own decisions. You're not in control of your emotions. That's why you're saying the things you're saying."_

_Slade was just as frustrated as Dick felt, though for opposing reasons. In many ways they were the same: both attempted to rationalize the others' behavior. Dick knew that Slade had family issues, as well as a number of control issues that he had worked through over the years. Slade, on the other hand, tried to make himself understand that Dick wasn't happy, tried to attribute the wrong reasons for Dick's sadness, which only exacerbated the situation. For years Dick had given in and endured, but he still couldn't stand it._

_"No, Slade. I know exactly what I'm saying, because I want you to listen to me. I want to be out of this fucking life. I want you to understand…I want you to listen…I want…"_

_What did Dick want? He wanted the Titans to live, sure, and he didn't want anyone else to die, but what then? What did he want after this was all over? Nothing would ever go back to normal._

_"You don't have a plan," Slade said softly. "It's too late for you to turn back now. Accept it, Dick."_

_He thought of the time he had killed someone for the first time. It had been just a little over a year ago, and he had killed around eleven people since, but he hated it. Perhaps he didn't deserve a happy ending._

_"You're right," Dick said. "I don't have a plan. Maybe a long time ago I had a plan, but I don't now."_

_Although this memory was channeling itself through his dreams, Dick was uncomfortably self-conscious and eloquent in his self-analysis, and aware that most of his realizations would be forgotten the moment he awoke. Yet, for the moment, and even clouded with his guilt, he realized that he had been wrong, and accepted himself for it._

_Slade had not changed; merely his outward behavior had changed to suit the situation. His fundamental personality had not changed, as he had not budged in his insistence that Dick was the right heir to his criminal empire._

_Why did Dick do this to himself? Why did he keep going back to the belief that he could somehow make Slade listen, make him understand that what he was doing was wrong? Why did Dick delude himself into believing that Slade had changed, or continue believing that Slade could change, when the person who had changed the most was himself?_

* * *

 

The second time he awoke in the medical bay of Titans Tower. The IV was still attached to his arm, and he was also connected to a machine that monitored his vital signs, though he felt like he wasn't in any real danger and that the machine was unnecessary. An empty glass and a pitcher of water sat on the table next to the bed.

There was no one else in the room besides him. Dick wondered if there was a Titan standing guard just outside the door. The curtains around his bed were pulled back, so he could see the whole room. It was late morning, judging by the sunlight flooding the room from one wall. The wide window gave him a sense of openness, a comforting view of Jump City from the bay. He saw clouds in the distance, which foretold a light shower that night.

The door opened. Dick glimpsed another Titan—Superboy, wasn't it?—standing guard just outside the door. Superboy held the door open as an older woman came into the room carrying a tray of food.

"Thank you, young man," the woman said to Superboy. "You don't have to come in with me. It'll be all right."

Superboy glared at Dick, as though he expected him to jump up and start attacking everyone. Hmm. Smart of Cyborg to put the Kryptonian out as a guard. It would be harder to Dick to beat the Kryptonian, who was on par with Superman's strength.

After a few seconds he recognized the woman.

"Leslie," he said in a choked voice. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you with Bruce?"

Leslie Thompson, Bruce Wayne's personal doctor, set down the tray of food on the bedside table. She looked exactly as he remembered her, but, perhaps, with a few more lines of worry on her face.

"Bruce wanted me to come out here to help you," Leslie said, grasping his hand warmly. "Once he heard that you were here he asked me to fly out. He thought a familiar face would help you."

"Help with what?" Dick demanded.

Leslie was the one who would have treated Bruce after Bane broke his back. Dick's life wasn't even in danger—so why would she fly all the way out here just to be with Dick?

"Getting your life back together," Leslie said quietly.

She moved the tray in front of him and poured him a glass of water. She set some other things on the nightstand as well: nicotine patches and special gum to help wean people off cigarettes. Oh. He looked away from the nightstand and watched Leslie instead. As she waited for him to start eating Leslie began tinkering with the medical equipment.

"I brought some food up for you. The paramedic told me that you haven't eaten in a few days and drank very little water. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"Why haven't you eaten?"

"Because I feel sick to my stomach every time I try."

It was easier to talk to Leslie than he thought possible. He wanted to stay silent, but he knew that he couldn't. He had to tell someone what happened, or else they would continue treating him like a criminal.

_Well, I do deserve it._

"The Titans told me what happened five years ago, as well as Bruce." Leslie looked at him sadly. "And before I ask anything else, the Titans want to know if Slade will attack Titans Tower."

"No," Dick replied in a low voice. "Slade won't come after them ever again. He won't come after me either. It's all over, Leslie. I murdered him."

He started shaking again.

"I see," Leslie said in a low voice, "when did this happen?"

"Two days ago."

"And you haven't slept or eaten since then?"

"Hardly."

Wow, he hadn't even been aware that he hadn't eaten anything. Now he felt hunger gnawing at his stomach, and the bowl of chicken soup, bread and a glass of water suddenly seemed a feast. But at the same time he felt as though he would vomit if he started eating again…

"Dick," Leslie said quietly, "You're going to be okay."

Okay, okay. Everything was going to be okay.

"You've grown up," Leslie said, laying a hand on his cheek. "Everyone back in Gotham will be so surprised at how handsome you are now. Everyone will be happy to see you."

Dick was overwhelmed by a sudden desire to hug her, but he didn't move. It had been a long time since he had hugged anyone, and now seemed a foreign concept to him. He felt like he didn't deserve a hug after all he had done. Leslie seemed to sense his reluctance and, thankfully, didn't press him. She drew her hand away and looked away from him.

"Here's a communicator, if you would like to talk to Bruce," Leslie said, setting a Bat communicator on the nightstand. "He would like to talk to you, when you're ready."

"Will you tell him what I've done?"

"Would you like me to tell him? Or do you want to tell him yourself?"

He had to admit his wrongdoing, just like a child. In that moment Leslie sounded like Wintergreen, just after Dick confessed that he had done something wrong and was frightened of what Slade would do. "I don't know."

Dick didn't deserve any of this. Leslie should be back in Gotham taking care of Bruce. And who was there now to take care of him? What had happened to Batman now? Who was protecting Gotham? Did another JLA take over the mantle in lieu of Bruce and Dick's absence?

"Everything will be all right in time, Dick," Leslie said softly. "The pain will pass. Your friends will come in later today. Right now I want you to eat, drink lots of water and get plenty of rest. Take a shower and change clothes. Once you do that you'll feel a lot better. I promise."  
"Okay." He looked around the room and, for some reason, felt disgusted. He didn't want to be in Titans Tower. He didn't want to have to confront anyone about his past. At least not soon. He had intended to go away after dropping off the evidence to one of the Titans. He certainly didn't want to stay in the medical bay for too long. "Can you close the curtains so I can sleep?"

Leslie smiled before she closed the hospital curtains around him, once again leaving him alone with his thoughts.


	10. An Afternoon Shower

It rained while he slept. Not a rumbling thunderstorm that shook the Tower, but a light shower that cleared up by the late afternoon.

Leslie came by to check on him a few hours later, when he had awoken from his nap. She took out the IV, though told him sternly that he needed to drink lots of water. Dick nodded, and she left him to his own devices.

He took a shower and scrubbed away his worries, and once he was finished he changed into clothes that had been left out for him. Nothing special, and certainly not his old Robin uniform. They seemed to belong to one of the newer Titans, for they were a little large on him.

Leslie did not return. Perhaps she was off speaking to Bruce about his medical condition, or maybe talking with the Titans. Dick didn't think he was hurt that badly. Even after his encounter with Bane he hadn't broken any ribs. Maybe bruised them a little, but Dick had allowed himself to be captured and therefore avoided serious injury.

Dick didn't mind that Leslie left him alone. He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts, even though they corroded his already unstable thoughts. Talking with people just made everything worse. No one would want to talk about his problems with him. They didn't want to hear about it, so he wouldn't bother them. So he ended up laying down on the bed and closing his eyes. He didn't fall asleep, but simply rested and listened to the ocean lapping against the base of the Tower.

He opened his eyes as something—or someone—sat on his bed. A green dog laid its head on the bed near his head, looking at Dick sadly, its tail wagging slightly when Dick noticed him. When Dick didn't budge the dog nudged his hand with its snout.

"Hey Beast Boy," Dick said, laying his hand on the dog's head.

The dog whined softly, an awful kind of whine that conveyed more than Beast Boy could ever say in words. Dick took his hand off Beast Boy's head, clearly unsettled.

Beast Boy turned around and trotted towards the door. Beast Boy didn't change back to his human form. Instead he bobbed his head, silently asking Dick to follow him. Dick grabbed a packet of gum from the nightstand, unwrapped a stick and popped it in his mouth. The urge to smoke grew stronger with every passing minute, and he knew that Leslie had thrown away any he had left in his jacket pocket.

They walked down the hallway towards the main room. Dick stopped outside the room that used to be his. Before he had left the Titans there used to be a plaque outside his door. Now someone else occupied the room. Well, at least the Titans had moved on.

"Dude…" Dick turned around. Beast Boy had finally assumed his human form. "You coming or what?"

Beast Boy wasn't trying to crack a joke or anything. He was quite serious, and maybe because he had no idea how Dick was going to act. He was treating Dick cautiously, like a criminal, even if he didn't realize it.

"Yeah," Dick replied. "I'm coming."

Everyone looked at him when he entered the main room. Resentment filled him as he walked past the Titans, though he didn't know why. Did he resent them for what had happened? Did he blame their existence for the way Slade had used them to control him? He pushed away these unhealthy thoughts, though he felt guilty for thinking them in the first place.

There were a lot of people he didn't recognize at first. Then he remembered their profiles that Slade had made him study, just so he knew how to fight them if they had to engage during a mission. Even though everyone was sitting—or lounging—on the couch, they were not relaxed.

"Take a seat," Cyborg said, gesturing towards an empty chair.

Dick sat down. Everyone else was facing him, and he felt like he was on trial; facing a panel of judges for everything he had done in the past five years.

"Can ya'll give us some privacy?" Cyborg asked the other kids. "We need some time alone."

"But what if he—" Superboy began.

"I won't attack any of you," Dick said. "I have no reason to."

After a moment the other young heroes left the room. As they filed out of the room Dick looked around and admired the re-modeling. They had redecorated over the years. It looked nice.

"We reviewed the evidence in that bag you gave to Bumblebee," Cyborg said. "You say there's more?"

"I'm in the process of clearing out Slade's Haunt. You can go there and take whatever you want."

Business, business, it was all about business at the moment. It was clear that each party was trying their best to hold their emotions back. They couldn't break down. Not just yet. Not until they were certain that this wasn't a trap, and that they could trust one another. Dick wished that it didn't have to be this way, but unfortunately he knew that he would have to prove his innocence before the Titans would trust him again.

"Mr. Wayne's doctor said that you killed Slade," Cyborg said. "Is this true?"

"Yes, I murdered him."

Every time he admitted it the words became easier to say. It was unnerving, but it was the truth, and he couldn't hide behind lies anymore. The Titans glanced at each other.

"So it's true," Beast Boy said, his ears drooping.

Why wasn't Raven saying anything? Her hood wasn't even down. Her face was clouded in shadow, and she refused to look at him in the eye.

"Where's Starfire?" Dick said.

Every single original Titan was there except for her. Why didn't Dick notice it before?

"She's outside," Cyborg said. "She doesn't live here anymore. She got here last after we found you here."

"I see," Dick replied.

So she didn't want to see him right away. Well, he didn't blame her. If she didn't want to see him right away, then he wasn't going to make a fuss about it.

"We don't know what to think, Dick," Cyborg said. "It's been five years, man. What do you want us to say?"

"What do you want me to say?" Dick demanded. "Aside from Gotham, this is the only other home I have. I'm not taking over Slade's business."

"The only evidence we haven't seen is Slade's body," Cyborg said. "Until we know for sure—"

"Is it because I killed him?" Dick demanded. "Is that why you don't trust me? Do you really believe that Slade sent me here to do you harm?"

Everyone merely looked at each other. Beast Boy looked guilty, as though he hated how Cyborg was treating Dick, and his ears drooped even more as he looked from Dick to Cyborg. Dick hated how coldly business-like Cyborg was acting, but he didn't blame him. Of course the Titans would treat him this way, after everything Dick had done.

"Was it an accident?" Raven asked.

"No," Dick replied. "It wasn't an accident. I murdered him during a contract. I murdered him because I…had…to…get…out."

For the first time since he started talking to the Titans his voice wavered. Was he admitting that it wasn't an accident now? Was he finally taking responsibility for his actions?

"Look," Cyborg said, his voice softening, "it's both rough for all of us, and you most of all. But no one except the original Titans understand what you've done for us. And even then, we haven't talked to you for five years. Me, personally…I don't know you anymore. I don't know how I can trust you, even though I know how much you've done for us."

As Dick looked at all of them he realized how true this was. When he formed the Titans everyone was a kid. Now they were all young adults, and the years had changed them all. They may have known each other well a long time ago, but now they seemed complete strangers. At best, they were all mere shadows of the people he had known, for time changed people.

"Kicking you out isn't the right thing to do," Cyborg said. "You can stay here as long as you need to, man, but I know that Mr. Wayne is calling you back to Gotham. Maybe it would be best for you to go home, Dick."

"I don't want to go back to Gotham. Not just yet."

"You do know what happened, don't you?" Raven asked.

"Bane tried to kill me." Dick's expression did not change. He had to keep his emotions in check, least they betrayed him again. "He told me that he wants to kill everyone Bruce holds dear, and that he would kill me in front of Bruce. That was when I learned what had happened to Bruce."

"So you snapped," Cyborg said.

"If you want to put it that way…"

"Ah, dude, he didn't mean it like that," Beast Boy cut-in with an uneasy laugh. "Like…well…"

Everyone shut up. Even Cyborg looked like he regretted his choice of words.

"You saw the evidence," Dick said finally. "I gave it to you to give you some idea of what hell I've been living through. Do whatever you want with me. If you want to arrest me, then go ahead. I won't stop you."

"The question isn't 'what are we going to do with you,'" Raven said. "It's 'what are you going to do?'"

"I haven't thought this all the way through. I don't know."

Cyborg sighed. "Like I said: stay here as long as you need to. We said we'd be here for you, so we'll be here for you."

Dick was done talking. He was rather surprised that he hadn't broken down yet, but maybe that was because he was too tired to do anything. Just mentally exhausted. Maybe going outside would help his headache, and then back inside for dinner and a nap. Maybe it would help all of them talk this through.

"I'm going out for a walk," he said, getting up from his seat.

* * *

 

No one stopped him from walking out of the Tower.

He didn't know how to feel about that. While he didn't want anyone to worry about him, he also wanted some indication that they cared. His emotions were all over the place, even if his face didn't show it, and he needed some time alone before talking to them again. Everything outside was wet from the afternoon shower. The wet dirt smelled rather nice as he walked around the base of the Tower. As he walked underneath some trees droplets of water fell on his head.

As he rounded the corner he saw something unfamiliar: six raised wooden vegetable beds on the ground. Half of them were full of dirt and the little starts were already assembled. The only thing he recognized were the lettuce leaves. A woman with a huge mop of red hair walked towards the boxes, and Dick recognized her at once.

Starfire had always been tall, but she had grown in the last few years, just as Dick had. Everything about her seemed more strange and wild than he remembered. She wasn't wearing her typical purple uniform, but grungy clothes and old tennis shoes bespattered with dirt. Gardening gloves covered her hands, and she carried a bag of planting mix on one shoulder. Her knees were covered in dirt from when she knelt in the ground to care for her plants, and Dick found that he could not stop staring at them. After a moment he caught himself, and looked up at her face.

"You garden?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "I work here occasionally. It is the springtime, so I must work. We donate the vegetables to shelters in the city once they are ready."

When she spoke he noticed that her usual foreign stiffness was gone. While there was a trace of her Tamaranean accent still present in her words, she seemed to finally have a grasp on the English language.

"I see," Dick replied.

She turned around continued pouring the planting mix into the raised bed. Dick nearly tripped on the wire gopher baskets as he walked over to her.

"Hand me that one," Starfire said, pointing to another bag of dirt leaning against the wooden box.

"But it's different—"

"Yes, that is the point. We must amend the soil. Do you wish to help me?"

Dick stopped to stare at her. Just who was she now? Still pretty—no, now she was beautiful—but a stranger. Since when had Starfire been interested in gardening? What other hobbies had she cultivated? He handed her the bag, and the weight caused every tired muscle in his body to groan in pain. Digging around in the dirt wasn't exactly his idea of fun, so he decided to decline.

"I still feel tired," Dick said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Thanks, but maybe later."

He felt silly just standing there watching her work. She seemed to know what she was doing, and he couldn't help but admire her for it. Though he felt much better after his nap and some food, he still felt immensely tired. Sluggish, almost.

"So, you killed Slade," Starfire said, not looking at him.

"Yes."

"There is a word from my planet called _rutha_ ," she said. "It means 'weak.' It is the closest equivalent to 'nice' in my language. The people of Tamaran are a warrior race, and we do not look down upon killing if it is necessary for our survival. I have read some of the history of Earth, and I know that many of your warriors believe the same. When I escaped from my Gordanian captors I killed some of them. It was inevitable. It was the only way I could free myself."

 _Rutha_ …weak…

Yes, he was weak. He was _rutha_. Was he nice? No, but he was weak. He wasn't nice because he agreed to commit such terrible crimes. He was weak because he had allowed Slade to manipulate him.

"Some may call you _rutha_ for waiting so long to kill him. But…I will not." Starfire took off her gardening gloves and tossed them to the side. "Do not mistake our aloofness for abandonment. We will not abandon you, and we are not disgusted to see you."

How was she able to put his uneasiness into words? His eyes blurred with sudden tears, and he wiped them quickly on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

"I almost forgot about the Gordanians," he said, avoiding her gaze. "I forgot a lot of things, to be honest."

"I understand."

There was gravity to her words; something about her tone made him believe that she truly understood, or at least was trying to understand as best as she could.

"What happens next?" Starfire asked.

"I don't know." Dick looked towards the bay. If the alarm sounded for an emergency, would he go and help them fight the bad guy of the week? No, he wouldn't. They wouldn't trust him, and he couldn't blame them. "I won't stick around. I'll be leaving."

"For Gotham?"

"Probably."

Starfire looked at him and did not avoid his gaze. "Many things have happened while you were away. We have lost many friends and gained some. We've missed you, but the others don't know how to express it. I believe Raven feels your emotions and does not speak because she is simply attempting to absorb it all, attempting to understand you through her empathy. Beast Boy will try to speak with you later. And Cyborg…he is conflicted because you have admitted that you murdered Slade."

"I killed him for a cause, but that doesn't make it right."

"What would have happened if you did not kill him?"

"Someone else would have died. I would still be there."

"Do you not remember how I nearly destroyed this city when I came to Earth? You only killed one man to save yourself and others. I nearly destroyed an entire city for my freedom."

"It's not the same."

"Maybe not. But I understand, Dick, or at least I wish to understand. We all do." She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "We have missed you, even if we do not show it."

Dick stepped away from her. He did not push her away, but gently lifted her hand from his shoulder and stepped back.

Perhaps the sudden shock of having him back, without any sort of fight or escalating drama, scared the Titans. How could they believe him if they didn't see the evidence? If they didn't see Slade's corpse? And they knew that Slade left Dick his criminal empire, so why wouldn't Dick become the next Deathstroke?

This shock left them all emotionally bereft. They could not comfort him because they did not know how. They didn't want to be near him because they did not know him anymore, and anything they said could worsen the situation. However, perhaps some time alone was what Dick needed at the moment.


	11. An Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going away for a week starting tomorrow and do not plan to update during that time. I will post two chapters today to make up for it!!

Late that night Leslie conducted a more thorough medical examination on Dick with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. She drew blood from him, wrote things down on her clipboard, and did not speak for the majority of the exam.

He did not see much of the Titans until late the next morning. It wasn't their fault—the alarm sounded every other hour, it seemed. They had to go off, leaving Dick alone in the Tower with Silkie. The newer Titans went off on their separate ways and avoided him. Most were too busy to devote their attention to him, but Dick knew that they were just being cautious. How could they trust him? They seemed unsure how to treat him, though some of the people he had met before greeted him without reservation. Roy Harper came into town with a baby in tow—his daughter Lian—slung over his back. Roy shook Dick's hand and patted him on the back.

"I was passing by and thought to stop by. Good to have you back, shortpants," he said.

"Nice to see you too, Roy."

Aside from Roy Harper, Dick didn't really make an effort to greet anyone else. He supposed that eventually people were going to flood the Tower once they heard that Dick was back. The JLA would probably be one of the first to stop by. Dick hoped that they would warn him before they stormed in.

Leslie told him to rest and relax, but Dick couldn't stay in bed all day. He couldn't do anything to relax. The book he had been reading was still in his room at the Haunt. Playing video games was bound to give him a headache. Watching TV or a movie felt…unproductive. Relaxing wasn't going to help anyone.

Dick went around with a ladder and a toolbox, making his rounds in each room as he took down all of the cameras Slade had installed when the Titans weren't looking. As he worked quietly, ignoring the stares from the Titans who passed by, he thought about many things.

What would he do? Would he acquiesce to Slade's last request and take the money to Adeline Kane and their son? It was, undoubtedly, the request of a desperate man who had lost everything, a man who could no longer keep in contact with his remaining family because of every single stupid decision he had made. If they didn't want to talk to Slade, then Dick shouldn't bring up bad memories for them. They had gotten away when they could.

"Keeping busy, I see."

Dick looked down and saw Cyborg looking up at him. Dick descended and tossed the box of destroyed cameras on the floor.

"You'll want these out, even if Slade's not watching anymore."

"Did you help him with those cameras?"

Dick did a double-take. Why would Cyborg say such a thing? _He really does think I'm a criminal. Maybe Slade was right._

"No," Dick replied. "They were installed a long time before I left."

"Didn't mean to be rude. I was just curious. Do you have a plan?"

"No," Dick said. "I have no plan, except for clearing out Slade's Haunt. I'll leave tonight."

"I don't think so."

Dick paused, now looking at Cyborg full in the face. The other Titans had crept up to them as he spoke. What was this, an intervention? Dick tensed.

"What are you guys doing?" he asked cautiously.

"We wish to persuade you to rest," Starfire said. "If you believe that Slade is still a threat, even in death, then you should stop him. But please, allow us to assist you. Tell us what needs to be done."

"I'll take care of everything. You don't need to see anything. I don't want you to."

"Isn't that what you said last time?" Raven asked. "And look what happened—"

"I was a kid then!" Dick snapped. "I didn't know any better."

"So why won't you let us help you now?" Beast Boy asked.

They had surrounded him, each Titan ready to tackle him if he tried to escape. Even without powers he could take them all down, at least when Slade had told him to. Dick didn't answer Beast Boy. He knew that he didn't have a good answer for him.

"You're in no condition to go back out there," Cyborg said. "You have to stay here."

"I can't stay inside, Cyborg," Dick replied. "I can't be locked up anymore."

Why was he refusing help? It didn't make any sense. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"Kind of contradictory, don't you think? You got in trouble because you couldn't trust us, and even now, after all this time, you still don't trust us."

_"Shut up!"_

The Titans stared at him. They didn't believe that Slade dead. They would never believe that Slade was dead, not until they saw his body. And even then, what? As far as Dick knew, the Titans didn't know Slade's true identity. The Robin they knew would have never killed another human being.

Shamed by his sudden outburst, Dick spun on his heel and stalked down the hallway back towards the main room.

"Dude, where are you going?" Beast Boy demanded.

"You're not leaving the Tower," Cyborg said.

"What?" Dick snapped. "Are you following Bruce's orders?"

Their uneasy side-glances told Dick that, yes, the Titans were following Batman's orders. Dick snorted. "Typical."

"He just wants to make sure you're okay," Raven said. "He'll provide the transportation back to Gotham when you're ready to leave."

"Is that what he thinks? Does he really think that he can call me back after five years of _nothing?_ You failed to help me, he failed to help me, but he still thinks that he can call me now? Like I'm some kind of lap dog who will come when he whistles? I've had enough of that."

They stared at him. It wasn't their fault—Dick knew that—but who else could he shout at? He wasn't going to come crying back to Bruce like a good little sidekick. He was no longer a child. Dick may have made a mistake leaving Bruce all those years ago to strike out on his own, but that was all done and over with.

"I'm not ready for this," Dick said, turning away. "I can't go back to Gotham. Not now. Not like this."

He didn't want to accept that the Titans had moved on without him. Facing Bruce again was too much. He couldn't even handle talking with the Titans, so how could he possibly face Bruce? Bruce, who had taken in him. Bruce, who had treated Dick like a son. Bruce, who in so many ways was like Slade. Strict. Determined. Obdurate. No more, no more.

"I need you," Dick said. "I need all of you. I don't want to be alone. Not again."

Raven hugged him. He expected anyone but Raven to hug him first. She spoke in a low voice. "You're not alone. Everyone is with you. We're all on your side."

He hugged her tightly, shutting his eyes as he fought back tears. Beast Boy came bounding up to them as a dog, leaping on top of Dick to lick his face enthusiastically.

"Beast Boy—" Dick started laughing as he fought off Beast Boy. "Stop it."

Dick's laughter slipped into sobs as he curled up into the fetal position and flung his arms over his head, wanting nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear forever.

Everyone just stood around him and watched him cry. Dick was terribly aware that he was pathetic. None of them had ever seen him like this, so weak and broken and completely useless. He didn't deserve them. He was unworthy of being their friend; how could he even consider himself their friend? He didn't have any friends. They had nothing in common anymore. He shouldn't be here and they shouldn't be taking care of him. They were only taking care of him for old time's sake.

"I'm sorry for the way I've treated you," Cyborg said. "This isn't the way we should be treating you, Dick. You're our friend. You've never been our enemy."

Dick caught his breath. He had to control his emotions. Be rational, Grayson. Being emotional will not help.

"Don't be sorry," Dick replied. "I probably would have done the same."

Would he have? Dick really didn't know.

"No, I am sorry," Cyborg said. "You don't need to be treated like a criminal, and that's how we treated you. It wasn't right."

"Why not? I've committed terrible crimes. You have all the evidence you need to arrest. So why don't you do it?"

Silence rang between them.

"Do not say that," Starfire said. "Please, you do not mean it."

"How can you possibly know that?" His voice shook when he spoke. "I agreed to work for him. I agreed to follow his orders because I didn't want to get hurt. I mean every word I say."

"It's extortion—" Cyborg began.

"But where does the gray line end?" Dick looked up and found all four of the others looking down at him in concern. "When did I stop being coerced and when did I start doing things out of my own free will? And at what cost?"

He was rambling now. No matter how many times he told himself that he would control his emotions, he simply couldn't. There were no repercussions for emotional outbursts now. Slade wouldn't hit him, or belittle him, or use his emotions against him. The only thing an outburst would do to Dick now was hurt what little pride he had left.

"Dick," Raven said, "Dick, look at me."

Dick looked at her. Like the rest of the Titans, Raven seemed a little older, a little wiser, a little more worn and weary of the world. Something terrible had happened to her since he had been gone. He could hear it in her words and see it in the lines of her face.

"No matter what Slade told you, no matter what you may believe about us now because of him, we care," Raven said. "There aren't any tricks. No catch. No backstabbing. Our friendship is unconditional."

He completely lost it. It wasn't just a fit of crying now—he screamed. He wanted to punch something, let out every single awful emotion that had been building inside him for years and years. Anger and doubt and guilt and a thousand other emotions that had betrayed him over the years were finally let loose.

What did he expect? A happy ending? There was no such thing as a happy ending. Not for him.

"You don't understand," Dick said. "I killed him. I didn't want to do it, but I did. I couldn't take it anymore. I killed him and I feel sorry for him. But at the same time I don't regret it. I killed that asshole and I ended it all. I killed him, and because I did things can never go back to normal."

There, he admitted it. He was glad Slade was dead. How could his friendships with the Titans be unconditional if they knew this about him?

"You're right, Dick, we don't understand," Raven said. "So help us understand."

"You can't understand."

"Dick, don't think like that," Raven said. "Even if you were here on Slade's orders, we'd want to make sure you're okay." She knelt down next to him and cupped his head in her heads. Her hands were warm, soft and gentle. "You are not weak, Dick."

Maybe not weak, but certainly useless. He wasn't of any use to anyone here in Jump City. He was just dead weight. He was not Robin anymore, and another kid held his title. Without Slade, he was nobody. And to be honest, that was just fine with Dick.

"You destroyed Slade," Starfire said. "You ended it all on your own."

"No," Dick said. "No, I didn't. Jackal gave me the gun. He told me to kill Slade, or he would go ahead and kill you. So I did it."

"Do not minimalize your actions," Starfire replied. "It is unhealthy to think this way."

"We want to help you, but we don't know how," Beast Boy said. "Unless you talk to us we don't know what to say."

"We will give you all the help you require," Starfire said. "Please, do not leave us because of Slade. Not again."

Dick sat up.

"Yeah, it's not fair to us," Beast Boy said. "We know you're scared, but leaving everyone will make everything worse. We want you around."

Scared? Whoever said he felt scared?

"I don't want this," Dick said in a shaking voice. "I don't deserve this."

"Everyone deserves kindness," Starfire said. "Those who did not believe they do are the ones who need it the most. You have kept us alive at the cost of your own life. Allow us to repay you in kind."

Despite the words that came out of Dick's mouth he knew that every word the Titans said was sensible. Slade had been a lying shit who told him that the Titans wouldn't accept him, that he was no longer worth anything to them because he was a fully-fledged criminal.

"I just need to be left alone for a while," Dick said quietly. "Please."

When the other Titans started protesting Raven held out a hand. "If you feel that that is the best thing for you right now, then we'll leave you alone."

Starfire, Cyborg, Beast Boy—all of them thrived off of being with people. While Dick regretted not spending time with them when he could have, he did not want to be with them now. He didn't want his time dictated by other people, even if they meant it in good faith. He didn't want them to talk to him, or even listen to him—he only wanted to know that they would be there if he needed them.

One by one the Titans left him, until Raven was the only one left.

"It must be hard being back," she said, not looking at him. "Knowing that Wayne is injured, knowing that we all are, knowing that you are."

Dick didn't look at her. He pushed himself to his feet and looked to the side. "I need to deal with one thing at a time, and I don't want anyone to tell me what to do. I've had enough of that."

"I understand."

"You have no plan?"

"I'll go back to Gotham when I'm ready. That's my only plan."

"But you don't want to go back?"

"No. I just know that I have to. Bruce is injured and Bane has declared war on the house of Wayne." He sighed. "I may not want to go, but I know that people need me over there. I'm sure the JLA is protecting everyone since Batman is gone, but they don't know those crooks like I do. I still have plenty of unfinished business to take care of." Dick looked up at her. "I'll leave tomorrow morning for Gotham. If one of you could tell Bruce that, then that would be great."

"All right, Dick."

For hours and days, even years, he had daydreamed about being back in Titans Tower, his real home. And now that he was here he realized that this wasn't the place he needed to be. It was a strange feeling, to be sure, and he felt confused. Why wouldn't he want to be with his friends? Meeting with Bruce would be far worse. The Titans could easily forgive him, but Bruce? No.

Regardless, he knew he had an obligation to go back, if only for Barbara and Alfred's sakes. Even though he didn't want to go back, even if Gotham was full of bad memories, anywhere that Dick went could bring back memories. If there was anything that Slade had taught him, it was that he had to face his fears to survive.

And, after all, Gotham was still home, even after all this time.

End of Part 1


	12. Gotham

**Part 2: Knightfall**

* * *

 

It took all of one minute to say goodbye to the Titans. He thought it would be hard, that he would burst into tears when he saw them, but nothing happened except familiar heartache. He had spent so little time with them in the past five years that it didn't bother him to leave them now. It was useless to deny his guilt over leaving them, but he knew that he had to get away from everything for a while. Every single time he saw someone he knew, Dick wished that they didn't have to reunite like this: with the weight of Slade's death on their shoulders, the weight of Dick's crimes, and the weight of Bruce's injury on their hearts.

Leslie traveled back to Gotham with Dick in Bruce Wayne's private jet. Early the following morning Dick traveled to the Jump City airport via the private helicopter that had landed on Titans Tower.

He didn't talk most of the way, even though he knew that Leslie wanted to talk. Whenever he looked up at her from the book he was reading she would smile at him, as though that could make everything better. He always tried to smile back, but he didn't want to.

She made sure that he ate his lunch. Leslie tried to engage him in a card game, in conversation, in something other than awkward silence. Politely he declined each and opted to stare out the window. Simply put, he felt tired, and this plane ride reminded him of all the hours he had spent traveling with Slade. Slade never tried to play card games with him or whatever, but instead used the time to study. Doing nothing was just fine with Dick.

Alfred was waiting for them as soon as they got off the plane at Gotham City airport. While Dick had heard about Batman's exploits, he had heard nothing about Alfred. Alfred Pennyworth was someone in the background, someone who didn't seem to matter in the grand scheme of things. He smiled as Dick and Leslie approached.

"Thank you for accompanying him, Leslie," Alfred said.

"It was my pleasure," Leslie replied. "We had lots of fun, right, Dick?"

"Hmmm."

"It's good to see you, Master Dick," Alfred said.

He held out his arms expectantly, waiting for a hug. Dick smiled weakly back. "It's good to see you too, Alfred."

They embraced. Alfred squeezed Dick tightly, almost too tightly. After a few seconds he let go and smiled at him, sniffling slightly.

"Come on," Alfred said, "let's get you home."

Yet again, everyone traveled in silence. Leslie came back with them, as she was due to check up on Bruce again. Current pop music played softly, though Dick wasn't really listening to it. He played with his seat belt and stared out of the window.

"Are you hungry, Dick?" Alfred asked. "I went shopping this morning. I can make anything you like."

"It doesn't matter to me. You can make whatever you want."

So ended _that_ conversation.

* * *

 

Wayne Manor seemed empty, dark and derelict. Everything was in place, yet at the same time something seemed unsettling about the place. This place had always been empty, but as a child it had been his playground. Now it was just a place for memories to collect like dust.

Alfred had dropped Leslie off at her home, although she would be back later that evening to check on Bruce. She knew that these next few hours were crucial for Dick, and that he needed to be alone with Bruce and Alfred. They walked towards the kitchen for a snack. At least, that was what Dick thought. Dick didn't have any luggage with him, so there was no need to drop off anything in his room.

"It might be a while until dinner," Alfred said. "Master Bruce talked of ordering food so that we have time to talk, but I won't hear of it." He took out a jar of peanut butter and grabbed two apples from the kitchen island. "Would you like a snack?"

"Sure."

Alfred began peeling the apples. Although Dick wasn't really hungry he could tell that Alfred wanted something to do; Alfred wanted to do something to help him. If it made Alfred feel better, then Dick would do it.

Dick sat at the kitchen counter, his leg twitching nervously.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Dick asked. "Here in Gotham, I mean."

"It's been terrible," Alfred replied. "I do not know what to do, Dick. Things have been happening too fast for me to process properly. First that business at Arkham, then Master Bruce's injury, and then you…"

He trailed off and focused on the apples, turning his back so he wouldn't have to look at Dick.

If Alfred didn't know what to do, then the situation was bad. Alfred looked up from the apple he was peeling. "But I suppose you don't want to talk about that."

"What else is there to talk about?"

Alfred went back to his peeling.

"I'm serious, Alfred," Dick said. "What is there to talk about? What do you want me to say?"

There was a whole list of things Dick wanted to say, things he had imagined he would say once he was free, but now he didn't want to. There were a whole lot of questions he wanted answered, such as why in God's name Bruce thought it was okay to allow another kid to take on the Robin identity.

"Let's just get through today," Alfred said quietly. "We don't have to talk if you don't want to. We can watch…what was that television show you young people liked…Clash of the Planets?"

"I haven't seen that show in forever," Dick replied. "Yeah…yeah. That could be fun."

For a few minutes Dick sat at the kitchen counter, saying nothing and doing nothing.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You could chop up these tomatoes for me," Alfred replied.

Dick got up from his chair and moved over towards the counter. While the thought of cutting tomatoes wasn't exactly riveting, doing something was better than doing nothing. And he wasn't bad at it either—after all, Dick had to pull his weight around at the Haunt. Doing chores was a normal part of life, just like everything else he had to do.

* * *

 

_The man was dead._

_Blood dripped from the knife Dick was holding, the murder weapon. Dick stared at it, hopelessly mesmerized. Did he really just do it?_

_The murder had been committed in the Haunt, not outside on a contract. Dick was certain that the man had been taken for a low-paying contract, an easy hit that Slade could easily clean up if Dick messed up. Slade was wrong. This didn't feel right at all. How could he have let Slade make him do this?_

_He had made his decision, and there was no turning back. Blood soaked his sleeve and his breath came in great gasps. Dick looked up at Slade, who stood near him and hardly said a word through the whole ordeal._

_"Why?"_

_Why, why did his voice sound so pathetic? Slade had watched the whole thing. If Dick hadn't done it, then Slade would have killed the man. There was no way he could have avoided the man's death._

_"Because you had to."_

_"Because you made me."_

_"It was a mercy killing and you know it. Better than he deserved, too. If he had been caught by the police and tried, he would have gotten the death sentence."_

_"I can't believe you made me do this…"_

_"You have always been capable. Accept it, Dick."_

_He turned towards Slade, still clutching the knife. If he could kill that stranger, then he could kill Slade. He could end it. Slade leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Dick in bemusement._

_No._

_He dropped the knife, which clattered to the floor of the Haunt. If he killed Slade, then he would be no better than any other mercenary. There were no words to express his anguish. Dick didn't even scream. He just sank to his knees and shook. What could he say that hadn't already been said before? What could he possibly do now?_

* * *

 

Dick looked up from the cutting board, his mind clouded with memories.

"Dick, you're back."

Bruce appeared from behind a door. He sat in a motorized wheelchair, his neck was covered in support, and he looked ten years older. Dick turned away to leave the kitchen, still clutching the tomato knife in his hand.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Something about Bruce's voice made Dick pause. He turned back around and set the knife back down on the kitchen counter.

"Dick, this isn't your fault."

"I could have been here to stop it."

"Don't be silly. I wouldn't have wanted you here anywhere. You may have gotten hurt and Bane may have killed you. Then I would have lost you for good." Bruce paused. "Turn around, Dick. Please."

Dick turned around. Just seeing Bruce this made him want to cry. For the first time in his life he looked down at Bruce. There was a good chance Bruce would never look down on him again.

"I would hug you, but moving my arms hurts."

There was stubble all over Bruce's face and dark shadows under his eyes. Just how much sleep had Bruce gotten since Bane broke his back? Wasn't Alfred taking care of him?

"That's fine," Dick replied. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't think you can hurt me any more than I already have been."

Neither of them spoke. There wasn't much Dick wanted to say to Bruce, at least not at that moment. Things had been happening too fast for him to process, and he was just as overwhelmed as Alfred by everything.

"Did you have a good flight back?"

"It was fine."

"Good. You feel better? I heard…well…" Bruce coughed. "I heard about your collapse."

"I'm eating again."

"Ah…good."

They looked away from each other. Small talk irritated Dick. He hadn't minded it before the apprenticeship, but now… he just wanted Bruce to say what he wanted to say. No use dancing around niceties and false pretenses. Bruce took a deep breath.

"I know this isn't the best time to ask, but I don't know when a good time would be," Bruce said. "I hate to be blunt, but there's no other way to say it: I can't be Batman. Not when I'm like this. Even considering…where you've been…you were my first choice. The day I stopped being Batman, I knew I could trust you to carry on the cape and cowl if you needed to. Even after everything that has happened. Even after knowing what you've done, what you've had to do to survive, I trust you."

"What?" Dick could think of no other word to say. He thought Bruce would say something else. Why not, "I'm so glad you're back, Dick? Why don't we go do something fun?" But this? "Are you asking me to become Batman?" Dick looked at Bruce as if he were crazy. "Why?"

"Do you think it's easy for me to ask this of you?" Bruce asked. "Do you think I want to? That I would have asked you if I didn't have to?"

All of Dick's frustrations and anger overwhelmed him as he stood there, shocked by Bruce's words. Bruce expected him to say yes. Dick's breathing became shallow as he hyperventilated, numbed by Bruce's request, but in a few short seconds he caught his breath enough to shout.

 _"It's not fair!"_ Dick shouted. "First Slade told me I had to be Deathstroke, and now this? Fuck you, Bruce."

"Dick—" Bruce sounded strained. Shocked. Well, what did he expect? "Dick, hear me out—"

Dick grabbed the knife and slammed it into the wooden countertop. Everyone in the room jumped. Slowly he let it go, his hand shaking and his heart racing. Without even glancing back at Bruce, Dick stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the door shut behind him.

Dick found his way back to his room, which hadn't been touched in the past five years. He sat on his bed with his back to the door.

He felt like a child again. What in God's name was Bruce thinking? Maybe he was so drugged up on painkillers that he wasn't thinking straight. Maybe Scarecrow had been there and gassed Bruce. Whatever the reason, Dick was sure that Bruce wasn't in his right mind. He couldn't have asked Dick that. Not after all of these years. Not after he had replaced Dick. Bruce hated him. This had to be a joke.

"Master Dick," Alfred said through the door. "Can I come in?"

Dick didn't move. Then, after a long, long while, he got up and opened the door. He had been waiting for years, so what was a few seconds more?

"It's unfair, I know," Alfred said, "I told him not to ask you, especially not so soon after you came back home. But you know him…"

"Oh, so he's sorry because he didn't know? That's no excuse."

No, he shouldn't get mad at Alfred. None of this was Alfred's fault. Bruce was the one Dick should be yelling at. Dick snorted. "Classic Bruce: always the sensitive one. I'm not ready to do anything."

"I know, but Master Bruce feels as though he has no choice but to ask you for assistance."

There was always something Bruce needed. He was like Slade: he never called unless he needed something or was mad at something Dick had done.

"Can you at least talk to him? For five minutes? Then I promise you won't have to."

If he didn't want to talk to them then he wouldn't.

"I know it's hard, but do this for me. Please." Alfred squeezed Dick's arms reassuringly. "We know what you had to do, and we don't care."

"Bruce cares that I killed Slade."

That made Bruce's request all the more unbelievable. Batman was not a killer. Anyone but Dick was worthy of the cape and cowl.

"He knows more than most people that desperate people do desperate things. Whatever you may think, Master Bruce does not hate you for what you've done."

"Do you?"

"Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Because…" Dick's voice shook. "I hate myself. I'm sorry, Alfred. But please leave me alone, just for a little while. Please."

Dick walked through the empty house later that evening. Dinner had been a tense affair. Eventually Dick took his plate and ate by himself, not wanting to talk to either Bruce or Alfred. Thankfully, they respected his space and left him alone. They wouldn't talk to him unless he made it clear that he wanted to talk to them.

There were old and new pictures up in the living room. Instead of dwelling on the old memories, which were painful, Dick looked at the new pictures on the mantle. There were pictures of two boys Dick recognized as his successors: the one who died and the one who was Robin now. Dick picked up the picture of the boy who had died, stared at his face, and then set it down, clearly unsettled.

There were pictures missing. Five years' worth of them. Pictures of Dick's high school graduation, pictures of his friends, pictures of him doing the things he had loved to do. What would be here now?

 _I would be graduating from college right about now_ , Dick thought. A picture of him at his college graduation was also missing, if he had gone to college at all. What would he have studied?

He heard Bruce wheeling into the room long before he heard Bruce speak.

"So, Slade asked you to become the next Deathstroke," Bruce said.

"Are you surprised?"

"Only that he was sincere."

Dick still didn't turn around to look at him. It wasn't Bruce's fault: he didn't know about Slade's request because Dick hadn't told him. He was so caught up in his own little world that he forgot to mention these things. Dick didn't want to mention it, though. He was still trying to process Slade's last will and testament, and he didn't have any intention of sharing his thoughts with Bruce.

"Dick," Bruce said. "If I had known…if I had even guessed what had happened…I would have never asked you to do this for me. I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm not going to do it," Dick said. "You shouldn't have asked me the moment I came home. You have yet to learn tact, Bruce."

"I understand," Bruce said. "I'm sorry. It was unfair of me to ask you to become Batman, especially after everything you've been through."

"You don't know what I've been through."

"I know a lot about what happened, but I don't know everything. I don't know how you feel, and I can't help you until I do."

"And you think me becoming Batman will help?"

"No. No, I do not." Bruce reached out a hand and placed it over Dick's. "It's the exact opposite of what I want for you. What I think will help you. But there are so many people who rely on Batman now, so many people who need help. I understand if you don't want to go out on patrol. I have no right to force you to do that. I shouldn't." Bruce sighed. "But I can't defend Gotham anymore. I can't protect our family."

"And I have to?"

"Tim is Robin now, and he's still a kid. He's only eighteen, and I don't want him to end up like…"

"Like me?" Dick snorted again. "Guess you can't afford to corrupt the new kid."

Sure, he was being dramatic, but didn't he have a right to be after all these years of hiding his emotions? And while Dick knew that this Tim Drake didn't deserve the flak, he still couldn't help but talk coldly of this new Robin. After all, Bruce never asked him if it was okay to get a new Robin.

"You are you, Dick, and no one can tell you otherwise. I would be proud if Tim became half the man you are now."

"Is this a joke?"

"Not at all. You may feel like you don't deserve my praise, but I'm the one who should be blamed for all this."

"Why? Why me, Bruce? Why all of this?"

"Gotham is a war zone. I don't know if Alfred told you, but Bane let lose all of Arkham last week. There are still criminals wreaking havoc in the city. It's not safe here."

"Then why did you call me back?"

"Because Gotham needs Batman. People know who you are; nowhere is safe for you. Not until we clean up this mess. The other JLA members are away on business. Most of them can't help us now. I need everyone here and doing their very best. You're part of this family, Dick. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But I know you, and I know how much you want to help people."

"No." Dick stepped back. "Please, don't. Just stop."

"Dick, I don't think you even know what happened when Slade died."

"I murdered him."

"It was probably an accident."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Because I know you, and I know that you wouldn't murder someone on purpose. Not like that." Dick didn't turn around to look at Bruce. He heard Bruce wheeling over to him. "You are not capable of true murder, Dick."

"You really think you know me now?" Dick asked quietly. "I have gone into darkness and seen what I am truly capable of. How can you know me when I didn't even know myself?"

Bruce took a deep breath, as though he was struggling to find the right words. Man, even when the guy was in a wheelchair he still looked intimidating. "No, I don't. I know you've changed. We all have. Time does that. But I know that if you didn't want to change, then you wouldn't have."

Dick was not capable of true murder. But then how could Bruce explain everything that Slade made him do? The morality of his choices left Dick mute, because by killing people he had saved lives.

"I know who you were forced to kill. Slade doesn't keep those kind of things hidden away. In fact he wanted me to know. He wanted me to know what he thought you had become to try to turn me against you. If you're feeling this way, then Slade hasn't won."

"Just leave me alone, Bruce. I don't want to think about it."

"People have died while I was Batman."

"Bystanders. Accidents. You never intentionally murdered anyone. I thought about it for hours and hours. I wanted him dead, Bruce. There's no other way to put it."

"It's only natural to think that way in your situation—"

"So you say."

"Do you think I haven't thought about murdering the Joker? Murdering Slade for what he's done to you?"

Why did he come back to Gotham? Why wouldn't Bruce just leave him alone? Dick was mad, but he was too tired to argue. He was tired of arguing, and tired of voicing an opinion that wouldn't be heard. He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "It's not the same."

"Don't—" Bruce paused, his voice tightening when he continued to speak. "Dick, please don't block us all out. We're trying to help."

 _"Don't argue with me._ " Dick's nostrils flared angrily. "I don't even know where to start with you."

"If you're mad at me for not saving you—"

"Screw that, Bruce. I don't think you would have been able to save me anyway. If you couldn't do it within forty-eight hours, then who could?"

"I'm sorry that I asked," Bruce said. "I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you. The guilt has been eating at me for five years. It still is now. But right now we don't have time to catch up. We are all in danger and you know it. Tim is the only one out there, and he is cleaning up my mess because I can't, and he shouldn't be the one doing that. If we don't pull ourselves together now, then we may not ever have the chance to catch up and to give you the help you need. And don't turn away my help, because I know you need it."

Angry tears blurred Dick's vision. "And you think I should be the one to put myself in danger? After I've been putting my neck on the line for five years? Just so I can protect some kid I don't know, who's out there in the identity I created for myself?" Dick turned away. "Go away and leave me alone."

Dick stomped back his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. He was hurting so much, but he didn't want to share his pain with anyone else. He had learned how to deal with his emotions by himself because he had to. Sharing his emotions with Slade—whenever that did happen—always resulted in Slade using his words against him. It never happened right away, but always at an inconvenient time. Always when Slade wanted him to do something he didn't want to do. Just like Bruce was doing now.

All the tears Dick had been holding back finally fell down his face.

Part of him knew that it was unfair to treat Bruce like this. He very nearly died when Bane broke his back, and was probably in both physical and emotional pain. But Bruce had no right to ask him to become Batman so soon after they had reunited.

Dick laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. Every single one of his muscles ached even though he had done nothing physical today. This bed was much more comfortable than the one he had used for five years. Bruce had changed nothing in here.

Slade asked him to become the next Deathstroke. Bruce asked him to become Batman. There was no way Dick could uphold both of their legacies, not without them contradicting each other. How come both of them trusted him to carry on their work? To entrust him with everything they had built their entire lives while Dick had done nothing but follow orders?

He understood where Bruce was coming from. Hell, Dick should have expected it, but so soon? Was Bruce really that scared? Dick rolled over to his side so that he was facing the wall. Of course Bruce would be scared. Bane broke his back, most of the Arkham villains had broken out of the asylum, and his teenage sidekick was out dealing with villains who could kidnap or kill him. Bruce was scared of what Dick had become, and he was scared that Dick would never be the person he used to be again. Dick understood all of that. But for once—just once—they needed to have a conversation where Bruce was just…there for him. Not asking anything of him. Not ordering him around, not forbidding him to do anything, just…nothing. Nothing except be there for him.


	13. Robin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting, everyone. I went away on a much needed vacation, and now I'm back. Updates will continue as usual.

Dick had been awake for hours, but he didn't feel sleepy at all. Tired, yes, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. He gripped the blankets and stared at the opposite wall, hardly daring to believe that he was home at long last.

Dick pulled back the curtain on the window and saw that the sun was about to rise. Well, there was no use trying to sleep in now. He slapped on one of those nicotine patches Leslie had given him and got out of bed. He ran a hand through his messy hair and walked downstairs to the kitchen. For Gotham being a warzone the house seemed oddly at peace.

Alfred was, of course, already in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Outwitting Alfred was impossible. Just once Dick had hoped that he would be up before Alfred would be. Upon hearing Dick enter the room, Alfred turned and smiled warmly at him.

"What would you like for breakfast, Master Dick?" Alfred asked. "I can make pancakes, waffles, omelets—"

"I'll just have a banana." Dick grabbed one from the kitchen island.

"Are you sure—"

"Trust me, I'm fine. Don't worry about me, Alfred."

Yeah, really. Bruce was the one Alfred should be worrying about. There was nothing Dick could do about the situation, nothing that Bruce hadn't asked already. And though he wanted to help, he knew that he wasn't ready. Dick needed some time alone, a respite before he jumped back into things.

Dick walked through the house until the familiar grandfather clock stood before him. After all this time Bruce hadn't changed the entrance to the Batcave. Typical. No matter what Bruce said about constant vigilance, he was still a creature of habit and tradition.

Dick turned the hands on the clock to the correct time. The door swung open, and he walked down the stairs into the Batcave.

As he expected, there were a few changes. The technology, of course, had been updated. Some of the flooring and exercise equipment had been updated as well. A camera swept up from the darkness and scanned his face. Dick was so surprised that he almost punched the camera.

"Recognized: Richard Grayson," the camera said in a mechanical voice. "Access to Batcave approved."

Just as quickly as the camera had flown at him, it retreated back into the darkness. Wow. That was weird. Dick shook his head and continued down the stairs. So, Bruce updated the security system. That made sense, considering everything that had happened. But when did Bruce update the cave security? Was it before or after Bane had broken his back? Dick suspected that, unless he looked at the records on the main computer, he wouldn't get an answer from Bruce.

Dick was not surprised to find Bruce sitting at the main computer, a cup of coffee at his side, researching things on the computer. He was still dressed in yesterday's rumpled clothes and needed a shave. A creature of habit, after all this time.

"Good morning, Dick." Bruce looked up from the computer as Dick approached. "Did you get enough sleep?"

"I'm fine. I need to use the computer."

"What for?"

Dick bit back a smart comment. "Slade asked me to look for his ex-wife and son," Dick replied. "I have something to say to them. Slade wanted me to give them something."

"You won't seriously—"

"I don't think they care about Slade, Bruce. I just want them to know that he's dead."

Well, that was Dick's theory, anyway. From what little Dick knew of Adeline Kane—Slade's ex-wife—she had left him. She filed the divorce papers, and Slade had agreed because he didn't want a scandal. Then there was something going on with Slade' sons and, wow, who knew that Slade Wilson had so much drama in his life? No wonder the guy was messed up.

"And what about Gotham?"

"I can't stay here, Bruce. I can't fight like this."

"You know better than most what it takes to protect those we love. Even when we feel like we can't fight back, we find the strength to. I've just reached the end of my limit. Maybe it's for the better."

"You just want me to say yes."

"If I had it my way I would be out there cleaning up my own mess. I wouldn't let you fight even if you had wanted to. This is out of necessity and you know it."

"But you still had the nerve to ask me."

"None of the other villains know about my back yet. Not unless Bane told them."

"You'd be surprised how many people know already." Dick chuckled when Bruce shot him a weird look. "You haven't been hanging out with high-end villains for five years. I know what those guys gossip about, probably better than you."

_"Do you know what he did?" Slade asked, gesturing towards Bane. "Do you know why Bane's here?"_

A shudder went through him.

"I just want you to be prepared when Bane comes back," Bruce said. "I can't lose you again, Dick. I just can't. At the very least you have to be able to protect yourself."

Bane would come back for him, and he would come after Tim once Dick was dead. No one would win.

"Doesn't mean I have to be Batman."

"There's no time to come up with an alternate identity, and Tim's already Robin. Do whatever you want after everyone's back in Arkham. I just ask that you do this one thing for me, even though I know that you have no reason to."

"You know, I thought it would be hard to say no," Dick said. "But it's easy. I haven't seen you for five years. It's not hard at all."

"I hoped that wouldn't be the case."

"We could talk forever about this, Bruce, and we still could get nowhere."

"I respect whatever decision you make."

"But you're disappointed that I said no."

"I'm disappointed that you're giving up so soon."

Giving up? Dick shot an exasperated look at Bruce. "I'm far from that, Bruce. I'm not giving up, I'm stepping down because I can't protect Gotham. You can't protect Gotham because your back is broken. I can't protect Gotham because I'm not emotionally stable, and I know it."

"It's just a matter of—"

"Of what? You think I can wish my feelings away? I can't break down in the middle of a fight. I can't afford to. I almost did when Slade died."

"And you think Tim can handle it?"

"You have Batgirl, don't you?"

"Stephanie, yes."

"Stephanie? Who's that? What happened to Barbara?"

Bruce's face only darkened. "You'll know soon enough."

Where else could he go? Off on his own? Bruce was the only one who would take him in, but now he was asking too much. Dick could stay, but he had to replace Batman. What kind of an arrangement was that?

"We can have a suit ready for you by tomorrow morning," Bruce said. "I wasn't sure if my costume would fit you."

"You expect me to help you."

"I expect you to help people. I only ask this of you this one time. Once we have the situation sorted out, then we can talk about whether or not you want to be Batman."

"You're not the only one with time-sensitive issues, Bruce," Dick said. "There are people at risk on my end as well. Not everything is about you."

It wasn't that Dick didn't want to help people. He did. But Bruce wasn't considering Dick's needs and the problems that he had to resolve before he could do anything else. And what infuriated Dick the most was that Bruce knew _everything._ He knew that Dick had to deconstruct Slade's criminal empire. He knew that criminals after Slade's blood would be after Dick next. So why put this extra burden on him?

"Do what you need to do. If you feel like this is the best course of action to take now, then I won't stop you."

"You don't sound sincere."

"I've always been sincere. I'd never lie to you."

Dick's eyes narrowed. "Just leave me alone with the computer. We'll talk about this later."

Later, later, when was later? A few hours from now? A day? A month? A year? Bruce looked at Dick with a strange expression, one that Dick could not quite decipher.

"All right. That's fine. If you need anything I'll be upstairs."

"Uh-huh."

"I'll see you for lunch."

"Whatever."

Bruce wheeled out of the Batcave. Dick sat down heavily at the computer and started his work.

So, it seemed as though Adeline Kane and her surviving son moved away from California to get away from Slade. Smart move. They were near Gotham, just a couple hours away by car. So long as they were home, it wouldn't take longer than an hour to talk to them. That was more than enough time to sort out the messy details of Slade's last will and testament.

Dick was so engaged in his work that he almost didn't notice someone enter the Batcave. A young man stepped down into the cave, his domino mask off and his yellow cape slung over an arm. Dick recognized him immediately from the pictures he had seen on newspaper headlines as the new Robin. The costume had several stylistic changes. The gloves were more fortified and padded, and the boots were different as well. It looked nice. Much more functional than the original uniform.

"Hi," the kid said, holding out his hand. "I'm Tim. You must be Dick."

Dick just looked at him and went back to work on the computer. Tim coughed uneasily and sidled over to Dick's side.

"I heard you were in town, so I decided to stop by. I mean, I would have seen you anyway because I have to report back here after patrol, but…" Tim trailed off. "It's good to finally meet you."

Dick spun around in his chair to look at the kid. At a glance Dick guessed that the kid was what, seventeen? Eighteen? Old enough to know better.

Timothy Drake did not seem perturbed by Dick's taciturn attitude. In fact, the expression on his face was the brightest Dick had seen in a long while. There was, at least, one person excited to see him.

"What do you want from me?" Dick demanded.

"I just wanted to meet you."

"Why?"

"You're the first Robin. It doesn't feel right not talking to you, since you never officially renounced your title. Well…I mean…" Tim paused, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. "According to Bruce I'm just identity protection. So long as Slade didn't fling your real name around most villains would still think Robin was under Batman's protection."

"Hmmm."

"It was the least he could do, Dick."

Identity protection. Sounded just like Bruce. From what it sounded like, Tim became Robin simply because if there wasn't a Robin, people would talk. If Dick was in Tim's position, he'd be angry about that. But, he wasn't Tim, and the kid would have the deal with Bruce on his own. Dick spun around in his chair and continued to look up information about the Wilsons.

"And you're okay with being a replacement?" Dick asked, not looking at Tim. "Being a pawn?"

"I don't think of it like that. I know you didn't when you created the Robin persona."

Dick stopped typing for the briefest of seconds, then resumed. "That's all you are, you know: just a replacement. There to protect my identity, which isn't worth more anymore. You might as well leave."

"You're just saying those things because you're scared."

Dick spun around. "Listen to me, kid, I don't care. I don't want to hear it. I don't know you and you don't know me, so there's no reason for us to talk. Get out."

"Come on, I can't protect Gotham by myself."

When Dick was fifteen years old he thought a lot of himself. He thought that he would be able to manage his team and take care of Jump City at the same time. Well, he learned the hard way that he had been wrong. But Tim wasn't asking to take care of things by himself. He wanted help.

"I can't be Batman. I won't be."

"Then let me come with you."

Dick paused. He turned away, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"Well…to uh…help you."

"You'll be no help to me. This is personal business."

"Huh?"

"Funnily enough, I have my own life outside of all this. Yeah, I have personal business to clean up before I can even consider being Batman. It doesn't concern you or Bruce, so you're not coming."

"You know," Tim called out. "I don't know you, but you've always been an inspiration to me. I figured out who Bruce Wayne was. That's how I impressed him. I'm Robin, but I'll never be as good as you, the original. I know I can't. Not without your help."

"You want my honest advice?" Dick squared his shoulders and looked down at Tim. "Get out while you still can. We think we have a choice to fight, but once you're in then you're in, and there's no turning back."

"I knew the risks when I became Robin. I figured out what happened to you the same way I figured out who Bruce was. I heard every single horror story about the fate of everyone's sidekicks, because you're not the only one who's ended up badly. I may not be the best choice for Robin. I know that. You may even hate me for it. I get it. But I don't hate you, and I hope you don't hate me. Please don't hate me."

Hate him? Dick stepped down. Dick didn't hate Tim, but…his feelings were hard to explain. Tim looked uncomfortable.

"Batman needs a Robin. He needed someone to help him, so I stepped up. Not because I want revenge, because I got to know him, and I wanted to help him. Just as I want to help you now."

Dick's anger subsided. Tim reminded Dick so much of himself at eighteen. Although Dick didn't want to listen to Bruce, he knew that Bruce had a point: they couldn't subject Tim to this. They couldn't allow him to face every single villain by himself, not even with Batgirl to help him. They wouldn't be able to take it, and they could be killed.

But Dick? Dick could take it. Dick had gone through hell, and Bruce knew it. That was why he could trust Dick to take care of things: he believed that Dick was mellow enough not to go berserk and kill everyone, but he also knew that Dick had the ruthlessness Batman needed to take down all of these villains. Maybe if Dick was in Bruce's position, he would have thought the same.

"It won't take longer than the afternoon," Dick said. "We'll be back in Gotham by tonight. But you're not coming with me."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my business and mine alone."

Clever as Tim was, there was a good possibility that he already knew about Slade's last will and testament. But if Tim didn't know, then Dick wanted to keep it that way. There was no need for the whole world to know.

"Will you be going as Batman?"

"No. Like I said: it's personal business. I'll go as myself."

Dick wanted them to see a face. He wanted this Adeline Kane to know that Slade had hurt him, that in a strange way they were tied to all of this. Introducing himself as Slade's apprentice had always gotten him in trouble.

"Please…" Tim held out a hand, then stopped himself. "Shouldn't you stay here until you feel better?"

"We don't have time for that. Of course, Bruce could have told you that already."

Dick looked one last time at the glass case holding the Batman suit. Dick turned around and ascended the staircase leading back up to the main house. He looked directly at a security camera, knowing that Bruce was watching every second.

"That's right, I'm leaving," Dick said. "Stop me if you want. I'll take Robin's R-Cycle. If he needs a ride he can take the Batmobile. I'm sure you trust him with the car."

"What—" Bruce began.

Before Bruce could finish his sentence Dick had already taken off. As Dick sped off down the windy road leading out to Gotham, he couldn't help but hope that everyone back at the manor would be safe while he was gone.


	14. Final Exam

Dick stopped by an old burger joint in Gotham for lunch. He felt bad that he had rejected Alfred's cooking that morning, but he hadn't even been craving a burger until he drove past the place and smelled one cooking.

He sat by himself at the burger joint, the greasy burger in his hands. Dick could practically count the calories.

Dick suddenly felt sick. He didn't need this crap. It wasn't good for him, and he would feel sick later. After that ridiculous diet he would probably feel sick eating anything else. Dick didn't even know what kind of diet Slade had him on. Gluten-free? Well, he would know after he ate this burger bun.

People moved all around him as he sat alone as he ate his cheeseburger. To be honest, he was surprised that Gotham was still functioning. People weren't hiding inside their homes in free. Somehow, life was still going on. And somehow, he would go on too.

Yet at this moment he felt lonely. So very, very lonely.

* * *

 

Dick pulled up in front of Kane's house. Dick glanced at the address he had written down. This was the right address. It had to be. Bruce kept all of his information updated on the Bat Computer. Even Slade didn't have Kane's address down quite right. She was one evasive lady.

He turned off the motorcycle and took off his helmet. After some hesitation, he went up to the front door and raised his fist to knock, then paused. Once he started talking to Adeline Kane, then there was no turning back. Dick didn't have to do this just because Slade had asked him to, especially since he planned to leave that mercenary life behind. Why should he subject himself to more suffering? Subject these people to bad memories?

No. Dick grit his teeth and forced himself to knock. Slade was dead and they needed to know that. Adeline opened the door and looked up at him.

"Who are you?"

Dick recognized Adeline not only from the profiles he had accessed in Batman's cave, but also from the family portrait he had accidentally come across one day at the Haunt. Adeline Kane was a beautiful woman. Too pretty, too nice for a guy like a Slade. At least, that was what Dick thought when he looked at her. She crossed her arms over her chest, a frown appearing on her face when Dick didn't respond right away.

"I'm Dick Grayson," Dick said finally. "Can I come in?"

"That name means nothing to me," Adeline replied.

"It does if you're been tracking your ex's movements."

Her nostrils flared slightly. "Get inside before someone sees you."

Dick stepped inside, and Adeline nearly slammed the door shut behind him. Someone was playing the piano in the living room. That must be Slade's son Joseph, who still lived with his mother. The kid looked up as Dick entered the room and continued playing, smiling slightly. Joe, the younger son, was definitely older than Dick expected. Well, he knew that Joey was around his own age, but somehow Dick had always associated this kid with the baby face in Slade's picture.

Adeline signed something to her son, who immediately stopped playing the piano and left the room. Dick's ASL was really rusty, so he didn't catch what she said.

"So," Adeline said, sitting across from him. "You're Slade's apprentice."

There was a hint of disdain in her voice, as though she didn't want to talk to him. Dick didn't blame her. She must have been doing her best to keep away from Slade and all of his lingering influences for the past decade. But if she didn't want to talk to Slade's former apprentice, why did she just let him walk in here? Without a gun to his forehead?

"How much do you know?"

"Only that you've been Slade's student for the past five years."

"You don't know about the conditions, do you?"

"The conditions?"

"I was never his student willingly. He forced me to do it, threatened to kill my friends and what family I have left. I've been stuck for five years and was only freed by his death."

Adeline sat up a little straighter in her seat. Dick hesitated, unsure that he wanted to talk to Slade's ex-wife about everything, but then he decided to talk.

How many times would he have to repeat his story? Until he said it so often that his words numbed his tongue and mind, and they no longer meant anything to him? It was easier telling his story to someone else, to someone he had no connection with. Dick didn't care how Adeline would react, because she had to know. Joey came back into the room with a tray full of snacks.

"He's dead," Dick said. "He died a few days ago. That's all I'm here to tell you.

Joey almost dropped his tray. Adeline never batted an eye. "And how did he die?"

"I killed him."

Adeline and Joey said nothing for a long time. Joseph sat down next to his mother and did nothing except curl his hands into fists. Eventually Adeline took out a box of cigarettes and lit one. "Want one?"

"Uh…." Dick took one. "Thanks."

As he reached over the coffee table he felt the nicotine patch on his arm. He paused, reconsidering.

"If you're trying to quit smoking, you should stay off."

Dick's ears burned red. "I've got all the time in the world now."

Instead of lighting up the cigarette he merely chewed on it, fighting down the urge to smoke. He didn't want to develop another bad habit, but he didn't know how to cope. Seemed as though Adeline, tough woman though she was, was still recovering from all of Slade's bullshit.

"Shit," Adeline said, dropping her lit cigarette stooping to pick it up. "I can't believe….he shouldn't…and you…"

"I'm not looking for an apology," Dick said. "Everything that happened wasn't your fault."

Dick looked at Joseph. He knew that Joey's older brother had been Slade's first real apprentice, and that Slade probably hadn't chosen to replace him with Joseph because he didn't want to lose another son. In some strange way, he had to admire Slade for trying to protect his own family even while his own life had gotten destructive.

"He wanted me to give this to you," Dick said, handing her the Manila envelope. "I don't know what's in it. I assume it's money."

Adeline opened the envelope and found another copy of Slade's will. "So it seems," Adeline said. "Money. He says to use it for Joseph's education." She looked at Dick. "This isn't much, compared to what our combined income used to be. I assume he left most of his money to you?"

Dick looked away. "He did."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I don't need it. I'll donate it, probably. If he were still alive that would piss him off."

In so many ways Slade was smart, but what possibly made him believe that Dick would carry on his legacy after he died? Eventually all things came to an end, and even though Slade had said that the apprenticeship would last forever—and even made Dick believe that it would, at times—the apprenticeship had to end.

"If I had known this was going on, I would have done something," Adeline said, her voice shaking. "I can't believe him…I knew he was crazy…but…I should have done something…"

"Would you?"

"He is not the man I married," Adeline spat. "I don't know what the hell he's been up to, other than he's been running a criminal empire and that he has a student. I didn't know…hell…"

"I appreciate the thought, but there's nothing you can do." Dick stood up. "I'll be leaving now."

There was no reason to stay and chitchat. He had given Adeline Slade's last will and testament. This was the last thing he had to done with Slade's personal life. Now he had to finish dismantling Slade's criminal empire so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

"Get down!" Adeline hissed suddenly.

"What?"

Adeline tackled him as gunfire cracked through the windows. They fell to the ground and rolled in between the coffee table and the sofa, though she did not get off him. She held him down by his wrists, anger twisting her face.

"Did you bring them?" she demanded.

"I don't know!" Dick exclaimed. "I didn't—I don't—"

Someone kicked the front door open. Adeline flinched and twisted her body towards Joey. "Get back, Joe!" She turned back to Dick, who suddenly felt afraid.

"I'm the last person who wants trouble!" Dick exclaimed. "Let me go and I'll help you!"

After a moment she released him.

"Take this, Joey," Adeline said, tossing Joey a handgun she had hidden underneath her sports jacket.

Joey caught the gun, looking worried as he glanced at the shaking windows. He looked like he didn't want to carry the gun. Dick felt his pockets and remembered that he didn't have a weapon on him. So, no gun for him.

"Take this, Grayson," Adeline said, handing him a walking stick. "This was my father's. It's better than nothing."

"You seem oddly calm about this," Dick said.

"This isn't the first time I've been attacked." Adeline glanced around the room, her eyes narrowing. "Last time this happened it was with Jackal. I'm not going to let anyone touch my son again."

Dick peered cautiously over the sofa.

Jackal walked into the living room with an entourage of minions who flooded the room, all armed with guns. Jackal looked right at Dick. He seemed surprised at first, though his face became guarded once more.

"Fancy seeing you here, boy," Jackal said, smiling. "Thank you for leading me here.""

"What are you doing here, Jackal?"

"I was going to let Bane kill you after Slade died, but then I realized that your usefulness hadn't ended. I had you followed once you left Gotham. Now, step aside, boy, and I'll leave you alone for good."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I have personal business with Adeline Kane. It doesn't concern you. Why should you be concerned?" Jackal glanced at Adeline and smiled. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Adeline?"

"You've become a terrorist, Walsh," Adeline said. "Leave my house or I will shoot you."

"Just as you shot Slade's face in?" Dick butted-in.

"Get out of our way, boy," Jackal snapped.

"No."

"No?" Jackal cocked his head curiously. "You don't want to get hurt again, Grayson. Leave or I will shoot you."

Everything had just been an exercise in fear with Slade. A fine line between fear and obedience. Dick was scared shitless, sure, but he wasn't going to let Jackal know. No one else was going to die or get hurt.

"I can handle myself, Grayson," Adeline said. "Don't make trouble. Take Joey with you and go."

"I won't leave you."

"Aw, how sweet, but now it's time for you to leave."

"I don't think so." Dick wielded the walking stick menacingly. "No one else is going to get hurt. Not on my watch."

Jackal knew that he was a threat. Maybe he thought that Dick would be traumatized after Slade's death. Maybe he thought that Dick would revert back to a passive civilian state. Whatever Jackal thought, Dick knew that Jackal hadn't anticipated Dick defending Slade's family.

"Run," Dick said. "Run!"

Everything happened all at once. As Jackal lunged at Adeline Dick was distracted by one of Jackal's minions. Dick swung the walking stick into the guy's head as Joey lunged at Jackal to protect his mother.

"No!" Dick cried out.

Too late. Joey tackled Jackal. To Dick's utter astonishment Joey sunk into Jackal, until his body no longer remained. Dick stood still for a second too late, shocked that this had happened. He glanced open-mouthed at Adeline, who picked herself up from the floor.

While he was still processing what had just happened, someone clubbed him from behind.

Dick crumpled to the floor. A ringing assaulted his eardrums, and in his dizziness he thought he was going deaf. Dick pushed himself to his elbows, his vision blurry, and he wondered if he had suffered a concussion. Everyone was shouting, and he was vaguely aware that if he did nothing he could get hurt or killed.

He swam in and out of consciousness, Jackal's angry voice bringing back memories Dick wished were left to rot back at the Haunt.

* * *

 

_Dick didn't know why Slade expected him to take this seriously. Well, take this seriously in the sense that he was a good interrogator. Do the whole "good cop bad cop" routine. Or maybe just go Batman all over the guy and break his arms. Never kill him, no._

_Dick picked up a chair and dragged it across the floor. Just like in the movies. Haha. He stopped in front of the prisoner and sat down in the chair. He took out an apple from an inside pocket in his jacket and started peeling it with a pocketknife._

_"So," Dick said. "You're the one who's been siphoning Slade's Xinothium supply."_

_"Not like I'm the first one to do it," the man replied. "Some kid took Slade's Xinothium a few years back and he got away with it."_

_"Really?" Dick nearly cut his finger. "Because from what I know, that kid didn't get away with it at all."_

_"Slade kidnapped me, and now he sent a kid to kill me."_

_"No, I'm not here to kill you. That's Slade's job. I'm just here to ask you about the Xinothium…" Dick cut off a piece of apple and handed it to the man. "Nicely."_

_"This isn't a game, Dick," Slade snapped through the communicator in Dick's ear. "Don't push my patience."_

_Dick simply looked at the guy. Regardless of whether or not he deserved to die, Dick could not help but see himself in the same position. This man was just as much of a prisoner as Dick was, though Slade had decided to show him a little mercy._

_The man didn't take Dick's offering of peace. Dick sighed and popped the apple slice into his mouth. "For God's sake, man, tell him what he wants to know."_

_"Or else what?"_

_"Or else I fail my homework assignment."_

_"Your clever quips aren't going to get you anywhere," Slade drawled. "You and I both know that he will die as soon as he tells us where the Xinothium is."_

_At which point Slade would probably ask Dick to retrieve the stuff while Slade killed the guy._

_"So," Dick said quietly, "Are you going to talk?"_

_Dick knew the rules. He knew what he had to do if the guy wouldn't talk. He hoped that he wouldn't have to resort to those techniques. Being lectured on how to torture someone wasn't the same as actually doing it._

_"I'm insulted," the man replied. "Slade sent a child to do a man's job."_

_Dick had been insulted so much in the past few years that the insult simply bounced off him. Those kinds of jabs would never get to him, not after Slade had gotten through to him with his deepest darkest fears._

_"Remember what's at stake," Slade whispered in his ear._

_This man's life was worth less than the Titans. He was just a common thief, someone who would be caught by the police anyway. Someone who didn't matter._

_Dick grabbed the man's collar and brought him close to his snarling face. "Do you think this is a game?" Dick hissed. "There's a reason I'm his protégée."_

_He didn't want to do it. God help him, Dick didn't want to hurt this man. But he had to. Dick shoved the man back down into his chair and scowled. He punched the man's face._

That's right, _a voice inside his head said._ It feels good, doesn't it? Hurting another person?

_Blood trickled out of the man's nose. Dick's knuckles throbbed, just as they always did whenever he punched something._

_"Don't make me hurt you," Dick said through clenched teeth. "I'm going to ask you again: where is the Xinothium?"_

_"You think a sissy punch is going to make me talk?"_

_"No."_

_Dick looked at the table full of torture instruments. Did he really have to do this? He never signed up for this. Sure, he told Slade that he would be his apprentice, but Dick didn't know about the fine print. He didn't want to learn how to torture people. He didn't want to kill people. Stealing he could handle. Murder and torture were something else entirely._

_Dick had practiced on dummies. Like a medical student studying the human body, Dick had practiced his interrogation techniques on dummies while Slade watched. It was one thing to practice on dummies and quite another to practice on a live human being._

_This was a final exam of sorts. Not for the apprenticeship as a whole, oh no no, he was not even a threat yet, but this was a test for this portion of his training. A test to see if Dick would really follow through with his agreement with Slade. Once Dick had gotten the information he needed, then Slade would come in and kill him._

_"Come on, Dick. Stop messing around."_

_Dick's hand hovered over the table. He closed his hand into a fist, then turned and punched the guy in the face again. Blood splattered the floor as the guy's nose broke. Better this guy than him. Better that someone else got hurt. Dick had spent enough time hurting. As the man spluttered and spat out blood Dick picked up the knife, forcing himself not to tremble._

* * *

 

"Grayson!"

The memory passed in an instant. As his blurry vision righted itself chaos resumed all around him. It was a miracle he hadn't gotten hurt in the seconds he passed out. Adeline knelt in front of him with his face in her hands.

Everyone else was on the floor, unconscious. Had Adeline done that while he was out? He sat up quickly and grabbed the fallen walking stick.

"What the hell!" Jackal's voice rang out, a mixture of anger and shock. "What's happening to me?"

Jackal's body jerked crazily, as though he could not control his body. He tore at his hair and clawed at his eyes, his words incomprehensible. Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched in astonishment as Jackal crouched down and flung his arms over his head, his words finally making some sense.

"Get out!" Jackal shouted. "Get out of me!"

What the hell?

The only person who did not look surprised was Adeline. She surveyed the situation with an imperious air, as though she knew what would happen all along. Even Dick felt confused, but after a few seconds comprehension dawned: Joey has superpowers.

Slade's son had superpowers? Everything was making a little more sense now. Jackal's minions woke up and paused, confused, as their boss flailed like a madman.

"What are you doing?" Jackal shouted. "It's still me, you idiots! Shoot the boy and be done with it!"

Joey could only possess a person and control his victim's actions, not his words. There were limits, then, to what he could do.

"Keep him imprisoned, Joey!" Adeline shouted. "Grayson and I will take care of this!"

She was a natural commander, just as her military records said she was. But what if Adeline mean to kill Jackal? What if Dick had to kill again? He looked at Jackal, who was still struggling to escape Joey's control.

_I can't do it._

The fact of the matter was that Dick did not know Adeline. He really didn't know what she was capable of, what she was willing to do to protect her family. All he knew was that she had managed to shoot out Slade's eye when she was _pissed_ at him. And if Dick had thought that Slade was a hard teacher, a terrifying villain, someone he always thought twice about pissing off, then there was no telling what she would do now. He took back what he thought about Adeline: she could be just as terrifying as Slade, and Dick would be wise not to piss her off.

Something buzzed. It took Dick a moment to realize that the buzzing was coming from his belt, where he had pinned his Bat communicator.

"Where are you?!" It was Tim's voice. "You need to get back to Gotham now! Bane is back!"

"What?"

"It's finally happening. All of the Bat villains are gathering for something—I don't know what."

Tim was terrified. Dick didn't even have to ask to know this. He could hear it in every syllable of Tim's voice.

"I'll be back home within the hour."

Dick shut the communicator. Even though he didn't want to listen to Bruce, he had been right all along: they didn't have time. From what Dick remembered, Bane was frightened of bats, even if he had never said it. That was why he had a grudge against Batman, aside from the drug-smuggling plans Bruce had thwarted. Dick needed to go back after this was finished.

"This isn't over, boy," Jackal said, still struggling with Joey's soul inside of him. "You're going to regret this."

Dick strode over to Jackal. "No, it's not over. Why should it be over? The party's just started, Jackal. I've killed before, Jackal. I killed Slade, even when it was clear that you and the others didn't think I would. Don't underestimate me. Slade did, and I killed him for it. You don't know me and what I'm capable of."

"You are nothing, Grayson," Jackal spat. "Nothing but a tool for people to use. Even now, you're still Slade's errand boy."

"Joey, leave him," Dick said. "Just for a second."

Adeline jerked in surprise as Dick swung the walking cane across Jackal's head so hard that blood splattered the floor. He dropped the walking cane and wiped the blood from his face. Jackal was still breathing. He was still alive, and that was all that mattered.

"Excuse me," Dick said, stepping over Jackal's body, "I have business in Gotham."

Bruce. Alfred. Tim. Barbara and this new girl named Stephanie fighting Bane, possibly other villains. What was going on in Gotham? And would Dick make sure that Batman would be there to help?


	15. He Who Rules the Night

Dick's hands shook as he walked out the front door to his motorcycle. He could have killed Jackal easily with a blow to the head. He could be seriously hurt, but Dick didn't care. The fact that he didn't care at all scared him.

He put his helmet on and fumbled with the keys. There were still warm splatters of Jackal's blood on his face. What if Jackal did die? Would Dick be sorry, or would he dismiss the death like he had so many others?

"Grayson!"

He nearly dropped his keys at the sound of his name. What was he doing? Was he running? Leaving Adeline and Joey all by themselves with Jackal's men? It seemed like they could handle themselves, but it was bad manners to leave abruptly like this. Adeline Kane hurried out of her house and held something out to him.

"If you are ever in need of assistance, Grayson," Adeline said. "Please do not hesitate to call us."

She handed him a slip of paper with cell phone numbers on them. He hesitated, and then took it. Dick had every right to believe that Adeline Kane was not his friend. She had been married to the man who had oppressed him for the past five years. He had no reason to trust her. But despite her obvious initial dislike of him, she had saved Dick's life.

"Thank you," Dick said, slipping the paper into his pocket. "For your kindness and your hospitality. I didn't…I didn't expect it. Not from Slade's family."

"It's only common courtesy," Adeline replied. "And I'm not like him, Dick. I may have trained him, taught him how to fight, but I never believe he would hurt anyone the way he hurt you. You didn't have to drive all the way here to talk to me. You didn't have to give us Slade's will. Facing me and my son must have been hard. I just want to let you know that you have an ally here, Dick Grayson. Do what you need to do. Joey and I will take care of Jackal."

"You're different than I expected, Ms. Kane."

"Life is funny that way." She smiled. "You're a good kid. Don't let Slade get you down."

"Thanks. I'll...I'll be leaving, now."

He turned on the engine and sped away, turning his head back just in time to see Joey waving at him. For a long time Dick had wondered what Slade's family was like. Normal, he guessed, if they left him, but he had always wondered if Joey was similar to Slade. He had known Slade for a long time, even though he hadn't wanted to. And every time he found out something new about Slade, he realized just how sorry he felt for the guy. Never sorry to the point where Dick could ever forgive him, but to the point where he could realize how pathetic Slade was.

Dick went straight to the Bat Cave when he returned from Gotham. He ran past several red lights and probably broke a dozen other traffic rules, but he didn't care. Time was running out, and the longer he spent driving the more likely Tim would run into trouble.

This time Dick wasn't going to be helpless. There were so many times before when he had learned about things that were happening outside of his cramped little world. The Titans fighting someone they couldn't handle. Friends in the league dying. Friends getting hurt, and all the while knowing that there was nothing he could do about any of it.

 _Helpless?_ Dick thought. _Is that really the best way to describe it?_

Dick leaned against the cave wall, suddenly feeling nauseous. Bad things were happening all over again and spiraling out of control. Not even Batman could take care of them. Batman had been broken. If Batman couldn't save himself from Bane, if Batman didn't save Dick all those years ago, if the man Dick had known almost all of his life had failed, then what hope was there for Dick? For a kid who had failed again and again and again? A kid who could not save himself, let alone an entire city?

There was nothing he could do to help Gotham. Why waste the time to dress up and pretend to be someone he wasn't? It was pointless.

Before the apprenticeship, Bruce had been the one constant in Dick's life, a father figure he could go back to if he needed help. And then Slade took over that role, obdurate as a boulder. And even though everything Slade did was to make Dick stronger, he only became a tool for other people—and he had let people use him. He had allowed Slade to control him, and then he allowed Jackal to persuade him to kill Slade.

Dick stopped what he was doing and leaned against the rock wall and wrapped his arms around his chest. He wasn't ready. He couldn't do it. Not as Batman, and certainly not as himself. Anything he tried to do would make everything worse.

"Dick?"

He heard Bruce's wheelchair come near him, and he shuddered. Bruce's injury just reminded Dick that he too was a failure, and that nothing would ever be the same

"It's pointless," Dick said quietly. "I can't do anything right. I'll fail, just like I did all those other times before."

"I intend to get out of this wheelchair, no matter what the cost. I'll overcome my personal demons," Bruce said. "Aren't you going to do the same?"

"It doesn't matter," Dick replied. "No matter what I do, nothing will change. If Jackal hadn't given me the opportunity to kill Slade, then I wouldn't have done it. Nothing would have changed."

He looked up, expecting Bruce to nod, but Bruce did nothing of the sort. He only looked at Dick, his face twisted with grief. "I'm sorry, Dick. I'm so sorry. I wish that things had turned out differently. At the very least I had hoped that you would have a home to return to, and I couldn't even give you that. But even like this, I am here for you. I'm not here to tell you what to do. Ultimately the decision to become Batman is up to you, and I don't want to infringe on your freedom. But you are you, Dick, and maybe you feel ready to give up because things have snowballed into this mess. God knows I feel the same. But right now we only have each other, and you will never find your way again if you don't pick yourself up. I know it's not your fault that you feel this way, and that you won't be okay for a long time. But you got yourself out of that situation. Feel about that how you will, I'm not here to judge. But if you got yourself out of that situation, then you can do anything. You are strong, Dick. You're so much stronger than I am, or ever will be."

Slade would have never said anything like that. He had been too proud to even admit that Dick was better than him at some things. Slade just had to be the best at everything, he had to be in charge. Dick stood up slowly, unsure what to say.

"I'm not saying this to make you feel better," Bruce said. "I'm saying this because I believe it with all my heart."

Well, maybe Bruce would change his mind once he realized just how weak Dick really was. Dick swallowed and looked away.

"What's going on in Gotham?" Dick asked wearily.

"Tim went out without my permission," Bruce replied. "He went out to face Bane on his own."

"Idiot."

"He felt like he had no choice. Bane is a on a rampage."

"How long has he been out there?"

"For about three hours now."

"I see."

But what hope did Dick have against Bane? He had already faced Bane once and failed to protect himself. How could he possibly protect Tim? Or anyone else for that matter?

"Do you blame Tim?" Bruce asked. "He knows that I can't help him, yet he went out all the same."

"How can I blame him?" Dick replied, so quietly that it was almost a whisper. "I've made worse mistakes."

Tim was only trying to do what Dick couldn't: protect the people he cared about. Maybe five years ago Dick would have congratulated Tim for defying the big man, for going out on his own to do what needed to get done. But now all Dick could see now was Tim making the exact same mistake as Dick so many years ago. He may have called for backup, but he still went out on his own. This wouldn't be like Dick's mistake, which had only cost him his freedom. An encounter with Bane would not end with an apprenticeship, but with death.

"Call him back," Dick said. "Get him out of there!"

"He's refused to leave. At this point I can't stop him. I've already sent out Stephanie to help him, but together they might not be enough. If I can't stop Bane, then they can't."

"And what makes you think I can?"

"Because you're smart."

"We haven't talked in five years, Bruce. You don't know me anymore."

Bruce grabbed Dick's arm gently. "You want to help. I know you do. The best way you can help is by becoming Batman. Get this city back to normal. This is your home, Dick. Help us protect it. But please help the way you want to help. I'm not going to be like Slade and make you do something you don't want to do. I don't want your situation repeated ever again, and I don't want to be the bad guy."

From anyone else those words would have seemed manipulative. But nothing would ever be as bad as Slade, it seemed. No one could be as deceitful, or manipulative, or violent, or infuriating as Slade Wilson.

"All right," Dick said finally. "I'll do it."

Bruce did not smile or say something patronizing. He merely nodded. Dick started walking towards the glass case that held the Batman suit, though he paused and grabbed Bruce's arm. "Before we do this, let me make one thing clear: I do not tolerate the way you convinced me. When I say I'm done, then I'm done."

Bruce didn't deserve those harsh words, but he had kept asking and asking until Dick finally said yes. While Bruce's words were considerably more gentle than Slade's, they nevertheless reminded Dick of all those times Slade had convinced him to do something. Hell, Dick had already killed people and risked his life doing it. Why not risk his life again?

"I'm sorry you took my words that way," Bruce replied. "We'll do things your way. I understand completely."

Together they went to the back of the cave, where the glass case containing the Batsuit was. As Dick walked, he noticed another two glass cases nearby. One of them held a modified Robin suit. A placard told him that this had belonged to Jason Todd. The other case held Dick's original Robin costume. He looked away, not wanting to face the fact that everyone knew he could never go back to being Robin.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Bruce said again.

"You keep saying that, but do you really mean it?"

"I'm not Slade. I may have failed to keep some of my promises to you, Dick, but I'm only human. I know I've said some hurtful things, but I would never hurt you."

The glass door slid open. Dick took the cowl and stared at it. This wasn't right. He shouldn't be Batman. Not like this.

"If something doesn't fit then let me know. I'm sure I could dig out something from my younger days that would fit you. I'll give you a few minutes. If you don't want to do it, I understand."

Bruce went away to let Dick change, presumably back to the computer to make sure Tim was okay. Dick paused, and then slowly stripped and changed into the suit. The mess of buckles and padded armor was unfamiliar, but eventually he figured out where everything was supposed to go. He clipped on the infamous belt of Bat-gadgets, slipped on the heavily padded gloves, and fastened the great billowing cape on last. The cape felt unnatural, and he became worried that it would hinder him in his battle against Bane. Who came up with the idea that capes were cool and practical?

He looked at his mirrored reflection on the glass case and adjusted the cape clasp. A cape around his neck, he reasoned, was better than a metal neck guard. He turned around when he saw Bruce's reflection.

"You look good," Bruce said, smiling slightly. "Everything fit okay?"

"Better than I expected," Dick admitted. "I don't have as much bulk as you, so the suit is a bit loose…but…it's fine. I'm only wearing it once."

"I know. Please make sure Tim is safe," Bruce said. "You can save people again, Dick. "

"And?"

"Make sure you're okay too." Bruce looked at Dick seriously. "Before you go, I want you to know that you have to leave me behind if you feel that Bane will kill you or Tim, or Alfred, or any of our other allies. I want you to promise me that you will leave me behind if things get too dangerous, and that when I tell you to go you will go. You will take Tim and Alfred to the Justice League Watch Tower, and you will stay there and get help if you need it."

For so long Dick was used to Slade's words: if someone is bothering you, then kill them. Don't leave until I'm there to save your sorry ass, or until I tell you to. Don't bother to save anyone except the kids, and even then they are expendable if the situation calls for it. Slade would never tell Dick to leave him behind if things got too heated.

Dick could only look at Bruce blankly, his neutral expression natural and unassuming. "I understand."

Who was he doing this for? Himself? To spite Slade in death? He didn't know. All that he did know was that Gotham wasn't safe anymore, and all Dick had to do was hold out until it was all over.

"Keys." Bruce threw him the keys to the Batmobile. "You're going to need them."

"I can't drive the Batmobile—"

Thunder echoed through the cave. Dick looked up, listening to the sudden rain, fear chilling him to the bone. The suit felt loose on him, the gadgets too heavy, and everything smelled like Bruce's cologne. He felt like a small child trying on his father's suit and tie.

"Come on, you've always wanted to drive it." Bruce reached out and grabbed Dick's arms, squeezing them reassuringly. "Everything will be okay, Dick."

Dick's knees weakened. He knelt on the floor, and he realized that he and Bruce were now at eye level. He didn't want to look Bruce in the eyes, acknowledge that even after all Dick had done to get back home to the people he loved, he could lose Bruce again. If the Bat villains overran Wayne Manor, then everything would be finished. There were too many things he had to say that couldn't be said. Things he couldn't say until he was better, a time that they may never have if Dick didn't win. Tears welled in Dick's eyes and a lump formed in his throat.

"You won't be alone this time." Bruce hugged him awkwardly, and then pulled the cowl over Dick's head. "We're all here for you."

Dick blinked away his tears. Batman did not cry. He rose to his feet, somehow finding the strength to lift his head high. "No, I can't promise you anything, Bruce. I'm not going to leave you behind. I'm not leaving anyone behind ever again."

He turned away to escape Bruce's pained expression and stalked to the Batmobile. As a crowd of bats hissed at him and flew away, he remembered all of the times he and Bruce spent together. Everything from the cave to the Batmobile were saturated with memories. Good memories. Painful memories. But they were memories that defined him and reminded him that every decision he made now was his alone. They reminded him that Bruce had taken him in out of the goodness of his heart, and that the best thing he could do for Bruce now was become Batman. For Bruce had taken his fear as a young man and embraced it, and used it to strengthen him. Dick could do the same.

Dick climbed into the car and turned on the engine. He smiled a little as the car roared to life. This really was a nice car.

"I've opened the door for you, Master Dick," Alfred shouted over the engine. "Your way is clear. Good luck."

Dick shifted the gears and sped up the winding ramp. While he felt like his fear would not go away for a long, long while, he would hide it, as he had done so many times before. He had observed Batman for so many years and knew all of his habits. He could do this. Yes, he could. Defeating Bane may not be something Robin or Dick Grayson could do, but it was something Batman could do. For in Gotham, Batman ruled the night.


	16. Desolation

Bruce sat at the Bat Computer, a huge thing that occupied an entire wall of the cave. He leaned against the keyboard with his folded hands resting underneath his chin. Every few seconds his eyes fluttered as he struggled to stay awake, and his whole body ached. Despite his weariness, Bruce kept his eyes on the screens. He couldn't afford to sleep now. There were several screens dedicated to Dick, Tim, Batgirl, which monitored everything from their communicators to their vital signs. The other screens were dedicated to the Bat villains going rampart, and many of those were muted news channels.

"This will not end well," Alfred said. "This is not what Dick needs—"

"I'm aware of that, Alfred," Bruce snapped, running an anxious hand through his hair.

"He cannot deal with this and you know it. He's tired, he's anxious, and he feels so guilty that he killed Slade. Call someone in from the Justice League to help."

"There's no time."

"Is that your excuse? You have a host of other people to help you, yet you forced Dick—"

"If you didn't want him to go out then you should have stopped him!"

They looked at each other, suddenly ashamed that they were arguing over this. Arguing with Alfred was stupid. Bruce placed his hands over his face and looked away.

"He can't stop now," Alfred said softly. "He feels the need to end this. Dick may even believe that all of this is his fault because he didn't stop Bane in Belgium. He needs to know that none of this is his fault."

"I know. It's mine."

Despite everything that Bruce had done to protect Dick, the poor kid had taken the brunt of every single one of Bruce's failures. Whenever Bruce had messed up as Batman Robin would be kidnapped. When Bruce and Dick had fought, he did nothing to stop Dick from going out on his own. And then he had failed to protect Dick for five years.

"What else could I do, Alfred?" Bruce covered his face with his hands. "I'm at my wit's end. If Batman disappears, then the whole world will know that I am Batman. I don't want Dick to carry that burden. I really don't. But I don't trust anyone else to carry on my legacy."

"And what of Dick's?"

"Once this is all over he can do what he wants. I'm not going to stop him."

Alfred knew why there was no one else to help. Bruce had already asked for help, but he couldn't get it. Jean Paul had already gone out as Batman, and that had been a total disaster. Clark and the Justice League had intergalactic business to deal with, and they expected Bruce to hold his own in Gotham.

"I hope so, Master Bruce."

* * *

 

As Dick drove Bruce gave him the information he needed about the situation. Who had broken out, which villains Bruce had already taken care of, the ones that the police could take care, etc. It was almost too much information to process, as Dick had no desire to learn so much all at one. He was tired of learning.

"All right, Dick, I need you to talk to Commissioner Gordon," Bruce said. "He'll give you the latest police update on the Arkham breakout."

"Ok," Dick replied.

He took a right towards the Gotham City Police Department. While part of him resented the fact that Bruce was giving him instructions, he knew that he would be completely lost without Bruce. He couldn't jump into the job without some sort of training. Dick didn't even know how half of the new gadgets worked. Even the car had some new modifications. He didn't have time to play around with the buttons when there was a crisis on hand.

"You gonna be ok?" Bruce asked.

"I'm already here. There's no point in turning back."

Dick didn't know where to park the Batmobile. He drove around the block twice before finding someplace to park. Bruce would deal with the car. He got out of the car and almost shut the door on his stupid cape. Dick pretended that this was just another one of Slade's missions, just another thing he had to do before he could rest.

The Bat signal shone clearly on the smoggy sky. Even after all this time Gordon still used the Bat signal. Why not move to something more practical, like a public tweet for help? Perhaps it was too classic for Gordon to get rid of. And maybe people liked seeing the Bat signal up in the sky. Dick certainly did, even if he felt that it was technologically behind. It was something familiar, something that had not changed during all these years.

Dick took out the grapple hook and shot it towards the rooftop of the Gotham City Police Department, just as he had seen Bruce do so many times. As he climbed onto the roof he saw Commissioner Gordon standing there, just as he had been doing faithfully for as long as Dick could remember.

Like everyone else Dick had encountered since his return, Gordon looked a little older. There were a lot more lines on his face. Normally he appeared cheerful, but tonight he was definitely irritated.

"Where have you been?" Gordon demanded. "I haven't seen you since Bane broke everyone out of Arkham."

"Busy," Dick replied.

Gordon glanced at him again, taken aback by Dick's voice. "Who are you?"

 _This is it, no one will accept you,_ Dick thought. _No one will take you seriously, even when you're Batman._

"Someone you know," Dick replied. He was too tired to try his Batman voice, and it would have sounded silly even if he had wanted to do it. "Someone who hasn't been back in Gotham for a long while. We know each other, Gordon."

"You do sound familiar," Gordon said. He paused, his eyes widening as he finally understood. "But are you…you can't be…it's been so long…"

"It's me, Gordon."

In the dim light Dick couldn't see Gordon's face. Was it surprise? Relief that Dick had finally returned?

"The original Robin…" Gordon said. "I heard the rumors—"

"I'm not here to confirm or dispel rumors. I'm here to finish the job my predecessor started."

Maybe he shouldn't have admitted that he was someone else, but Gordon already had it figured out. If Gordon could figure it out, then who else could, besides Bane and Slade?

"It's…it's good to have you back. I assume your mentor is indisposed?"

"Both of them are."

Gordon glanced at Dick uneasily. "Sure you're up to this?"

"When else will I be?"

Something held Gordon back, though Dick could not discern what. Was it because Gordon didn't want to send a young man out into the fray? Because he felt that Dick had gone through enough? Or was it because Gordon knew that the first Robin had been Deathstroke's apprentice?

"We're been holding out for about a week," Gordon said finally. "But it's getting out of hand. Bane was away for a little while, which is how we've survived—"

"The Joker?"

"Seems to be missing. We don't know where he is or what he's planning."

Dick suddenly felt like crying. The Joker and Bane and Scarecrow and so many others careening through Gotham? Even Batman couldn't deal with all of that.

"We believe that either the Joker or Scarecrow is holding Dr. Jeremiah Arkham hostage. They could be working together as well. That is why we haven't been able to clean up the asylum itself. We need someone to get the hostages out before we send in our heavy hitters."

"And around the city?"

"We've evacuated a lot of people from the troubled areas, but there are people still trapped in the city. We've advised people to leave, obviously, but those who want to stay have stayed. Think you can handle it?"

"I hope so."

Gordon turned away for the briefest of seconds, giving Dick just enough time to slip away. Now he could understand why Bruce gave Gordon the slip: small talk was uncomfortable.

Dick got back into the Batmobile, although he didn't turn the car on. He sat there, his hands clutching the wheel, and tried to control his breathing.

"Don't panic, Dick—" Bruce began.

"Don't panic? _Don't panic?_ " Dick's tone rose unnaturally high. "If you think that I'm going to waltz into Arkham right into Scarecrow's fear gas—"

"Think for a moment, Dick. Would I really make you do that?"

"It's hard to think. I can't think."

Everything suddenly fuzzy and heavy, as though he was doing everything in a dreamlike state. Even sitting there required so much effort, and he hadn't done anything except talk to Commissioner Gordon. If he felt so sluggish now, then how could he fight anyone?

"I can't do everything for you, but I can help you." Bruce's tone softened. "Don't think about Scarecrow's gas. Don't be afraid."

"I've never been afraid of him before…I couldn't be afraid…wasn't allowed to be…"

Don't be afraid. You can't be afraid, or else it will destroy you. Fear is weakness, and once your enemy sees it he will use it against you. Dick started shaking.

"I don't know what to do, please tell me what to do…."

"Take a few deep breaths. Scream if you need to."

"I'm not going to lose control. I can't afford to."

This was so stupid. He should have gotten this out of his system before he left the Bat Cave. No wonder Gordon realized that he wasn't the real Batman. Everyone would know. Why bother hiding it? Why did Bruce even bother asking Dick to replace him? He probably knew that everyone would realize that Dick was not the real Batman.

"Gordon knows. That's why you made me meet him: so he would know someone else is in the suit."

"I know. I heard. Don't worry about it."

"But—"

"I am not Batman, Dick. The one wearing the cape and cowl is Batman. And right now that is you."

"I changed my mind—"

_Coward._

Dick froze, ignoring Bruce's frantic rambling. Was Dick really a coward? He had killed Slade, but that was out of fear. That was because he couldn't deal with it all. He couldn't find any other way out of the situation except by killing Slade. He had shot Slade in the back, after all those years of fighting and training and, somehow, come to think of Slade as a mentor. It didn't matter if Dick hadn't thought of him as a friend: they worked together for several years and trusted each other. Dick had broken that trust. Dick had failed everyone.

"If you're going to back out of this, then you should do it now. I just need to know."

Back out now? After he had donned the suit and made a big fuss about it? He shouldn't break his promise to Bruce.

"Seriously, Dick, if you don't feel like you can do this, then don't. You'll only get yourself in trouble."

How much more trouble could Dick get himself into now? "No, I'm going to do this."

Dick's hands tightened on the car wheel. This was the only way he could make it up to Bruce. Even though Dick had talked to so few people, he knew that everyone thought he was a villain. Everyone knew about his crimes and judged him for it. Dick was sure of it, even though no one had said a word.

"I'm coordinating with all of our allies in the area," Bruce said. "You're not alone. Robin and Batgirl are taking care of one sector. Catwoman—"

"Don't tell me that she's involved—"

"She doesn't want to see Gotham fall. This is her home."

"I don't want to work with her!"

"Be calm. Listen to me: Catwoman is gathering intelligence as we speak. Her status allows her to slip through enemy lines, which is just the edge we need."

_The edge we need…_

A sudden thought occurred to Dick, but he quickly dismissed it. It was stupid. It would never work. He would never do it. But if he was desperate enough he could make a few phone calls, make a few threats…

"So who do we take down first?" Dick asked.

"Bane is our biggest threat. Everyone else is just being chaotic, but Bane is hellbent on destroying all of us."

"But what about the civilians being held hostage in Arkham? Dr. Arkham, the orderlies—"

"We're going to figure this out."

Bruce was trying his hardest not to sound stressed, but Dick heard through everything. He had learned to listen to Slade's tone to learn when he was stressed out, or upset, or annoyed. After spending five years figuring out Slade, who had been even more of an enigma than Bruce, Dick could see right through him.

"Do you want to save the civilians first?" Bruce asked kindly. "Do you think that's the best course of action?"

Dick thought back to his previous confrontation with Bane. There was no way he could defeat Bane in physical combat. But if he went to Arkham to take care of the hostages, then he would be too tired to defeat Bane. And yet, even if Dick put his family first, Batman had a duty to protect Gotham. As Batman he could not afford to let people die.

The dead girl's face floated through his mind. He had not seen her body when Dupont's assassination attempt had gone wrong, but he remembered her terrified face. So many people were dead because of him, and he had allowed it to happen because he was selfish. He agreed to kill them to save friends who were now distant to him, friends who no longer felt like friends even though he knew that they still were.

_No. No more being selfish. No more people are going to die._

"Is Robin fighting Bane right now?" Dick asked.

"At this moment? No. He's tracking him and getting ready to make his move. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Not just yet."

Dick considered his options. Would it be wise to approach Bane like this? When he was uncertain if he should continue being Batman? Bane would recognize him at once, and he would destroy Dick without breaking a sweat.

_Come on. You can be a tactician too. Make a plan. Help Bruce make a plan. You understand these villains on a whole different level. Use that to your advantage._

"I'm going to Arkham."

"OK. Why don't we wait for—"

Dick turned on the car, the roar of the engine drowning out Bruce's words. Dick didn't want to think about what he was going to do. He had to make a decision before he could second guess himself. When Bruce tried talking to him again Dick turned on the radio and blasted music.

* * *

 

"Are you going to listen to your voicemails or what, Robin?"

Tim turned and looked at Stephanie, who was dressed in her purple Batgirl costume. They stood on a rooftop overlooking Gotham, using a binoculars to survey the damage done to the city in the last twenty-four hours. Tim glanced at his communicator and put it away.

"They all say the same thing," Robin replied. "They don't want me out here."

"Should you let them know that you're OK?"

"Batman will know soon enough. I don't need to bother them."

But would Batman come? Tim didn't know Dick too well, but he figured that going on patrol without permission would inspire Dick to become Batman. He didn't know too much about what was going on in Dick's head, and he felt guilty for making Dick do this, but at the same time it felt right.

"He's doing it, then?" Stephanie asked quietly. "Dick is Batman?"

"I assume so."

"You guys shouldn't have forced him into it." Batgirl looked away. "It's wrong. I almost feel embarrassed for you."

Tim lowered his binoculars to look at her. "It was necessary. I was told that Dick wants to help, and I agree with Bruce that it's the best way."

"You don't know how he feels," Batgirl snapped. "You don't know how he's going to act. You don't know what he's been through. He could freeze up or he could kill half of Arkham before he stops himself."

"What makes you so sure?" Tim didn't mean to snap back. Maybe it was the lack of sleep getting to him. "He wanted to help. We should let him."

"She's right, Tim."

Tim jumped at the new voice speaking through his ear-piece. In his annoyance he had forgotten that Barbara could overhear the entire conversation.

"You may know a lot about Dick, but you don't really know him. Not like I knew him, and even now I know that he is not the same." Tim could almost see Barbara leaning back in her computer chair, her expression hard as ever. "He's killed a lot of people in the past five years. It took him that long to finally acquire the skills necessary to turn on Slade, and probably the willpower to do it. Dick is not a killer, but he may feel like killing Bane is the only way to end this because that was the way he got out last time. That's what I'm worried about."

Since everyone heard the news that Dick was back among friends, Tim had heard Barbara say nothing. What was her word against those of the Titans'? Barbara had just been a friend. A childhood crush, from what Tim had heard. But despite her status against the Titans, Barbara was an important ally who cared for Dick. Tim had thought that Barbara would speak up sooner.

"Why don't you see him, then?" Tim asked.

"Because it would make him sad."

No one spoke.

"He's still the only one who can be Batman," Robin said. "I didn't mean to sound harsh, Oracle, but there's nothing we can do now. We can only help so much. We can only hold out until help arrives."

There was no way Tim would become Batman. Becoming Robin had been hard enough, and he wasn't ready to become Batman, if he ever had the chance to do it at all. Stephanie and Barbara's words haunted him, because deep down he knew that they were right: whatever Dick had gone through could make him freeze up or become uncontrollably aggressive. Now all they could do was sit back and watch and see what would unfold.

* * *

 

Bane looked out of the window at Gotham City. He did not feel tired from traveling halfway around the world, and he would never be. Not with a good supply of venom.

"The terrorist Jackal is out of commission, _Jefe,_ " Luis said.

"Was it the boy?"

Bane didn't have to specify who. The only children he dealt with these days were the Batman's brats, though the Bat's eldest was certainly not a child anymore. Out of all of the children Batman had enlisted into his vigilante army, Richard Grayson was the most dangerous. Eliminate him first.

"No, not Grayson. It was some woman and her boy."

"Is Jackal dead?"

"We don't know."

"So why don't you find out?"

Luis scampered away. Bane crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the security cameras. He had just left Arkham an hour ago to check Scarecrow and the Joker's progress. So far they and the other inmates had not allowed anyone to get past their makeshift barriers.

While Bane could have attacked Wayne before Grayson arrived in Gotham, Bane had other things to do.

"The Batmobile has left the GCPD," another one of Bane's men said. "Shall we inform Arkham that an imposter is coming?"

Bane held up a hand. "Let us see what the boy does first."

Perhaps there was no need to kill the brat first. Grayson—if Bane's assumption that Grayson was indeed the Batman imposter—was already unstable. If Scarecrow and the Joker would torture and kill him, then Bane would be free to kill Wayne's other allies. Not only were Robin and Batgirl a nuisance, but that butler Pennyworth would become one soon.

He watched the blinking red dot on the screen intently. Watching. Waiting. "Take the bait, boy."

"He's heading towards Arkham."

Bane grinned. He would wait until Grayson arrived at Arkham before heading out himself. He hadn't been out and about Gotham, but his men were preparing the battleground. Those kids would die, and Wayne would be forced to watch. Then he could drag that Oracle girl out of her wheelchair and finish the job the Joke started.

"Tell those idiots to get out of my way," Bane said, spinning on his heel to leave the room. "This is not over yet."

Although events in Belgium hadn't gone according to plan, Bane would make this work. None of the Bats would be given time to recuperate. Although Bane had no real desire to kill any of Bruce Wayne's allies, their deaths would ensure his true end.

Batman's desolation had just begun.


	17. Arkham

_"The sensation—it's not sorrow, but something deeper—of being broken. Of being crushed so often, and so hatefully, that emotion becomes something you can only wish for. If only you could cry, because then you'd feel something. Instead, you feel nothing. Just…haze and smoke inside. Like you're already dead."_

-Brandon Sanderson, Words of Radiance

* * *

 

Arkham towered over him, empty and dark except for a few dimly lit windows on the third floor. Dick didn't have to go through a check point to drive into the grounds—the iron gates lay twisted and broken on the ground. Bullet holes riddled the red brick walls, evidence of an earlier shootout with the police.

The last time Dick had gone to Arkham he had gone to help Batman interrogate the Joker, who at the time had been incarcerated. Back then it had seemed one of the scariest things ever, but he had insisted that he accompany Batman. After all, he had helped Batman catch the Joker and knew how Batman acted when the Joker.

It had been frightening going to Arkham as a young teenager. Whenever Batman interacted with the Joker, it seemed as though he stopped being the person Robin knew him to be, and became someone else entirely. There was something about the Joker that boiled Batman's blood, and somehow Dick knew that if someone wasn't there with Batman, he could kill the Joker.

Funny, how he had always been there to hold Bruce back. Batman was always the one to take the risks, always the one who needed to be held back, always the one to flirt with the line between good and evil. Dick had never even considered it. Sure, he had some anger issues, but who didn't in this line of work? Dick had considered himself fairly well-adjusted for someone whose parents had been murdered right in front of him. Now? Not so much.

"I'm going to run into Scarecrow's fear gas," Dick said flatly.

"Gas can't hurt you."

"You're lying."

Bruce wasn't fine. There was no use hiding it. Lying wasn't going to do anyone any good. Dick knew that Bruce was just trying to calm him down, but Dick couldn't help but feel as though everything Bruce said was a lie. Nothing was fine, and Scarecrow's gas would definitely hurt him.

"I'm sending you a map of the building," Bruce said. "This will help you pinpoint your targets."

A little beep told Dick that he received the map. A glowing blueprint appeared on Dick's mini-computer strapped to his wrist.

He opened his mouth to talk, but then heard something scamper across the grounds. Dick stopped talking. He couldn't afford to let the inmates overhear him talking to Bruce. If they realized that he wasn't the real Batman, then they would jump all over him. Not that they wouldn't do that already.

Dick turned on the night-vision googles within the cowl, which cast everything in a reddish glow. He practically had to fight his way through the entrance, as things had been ripped out to create a barricade. Tables, chairs, those sorts of things.

No one greeted him as he walked into Arkham, which only surprised Dick just a little. What were they waiting for? What if the inmates were watching him, waiting for the perfect moment to snipe him? Did they even have snipers?

During his time as Slade's apprentice Dick had gone through scarier places. Breaking and entering into mobsters' homes, crawling through the ventilation systems of lesser villains, even Slade's Haunt were all frightening places. There was just something so haunting about these empty hallways. Someone had either turned off the lights or only kept certain sections of the building on. Moonlight streamed through the barred windows. Splatters of blood had been flung onto the overturned chairs. Was anyone still alive? How could anyone have ever lived in this haunting place?

Shadows danced on the walls as one or two cars passed by. Lights had been pulled out of some ceilings and only exposed wire remained. Some of the doors to the personal cells were open, and when Dick glanced inside he saw overturned beds with the straps ripped free.

The map that Bruce had sent him was continuously updated him on which rooms were full of people. It wasn't completely accurate (these things could never be 100%), but the blinking red dots gave him a good sense of where everyone was.

"I don't want confrontation," Bruce said. "Just get in and get out of there. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Even though Bruce was coordinating with everyone else and probably had something in the utility belt to help, Dick knew that if he screwed up then it would be his fault, not Bruce's. Everything was—or could have been—his fault. If Dick hadn't gotten himself out of the situation sooner, if he had just gotten his guts together and killed Slade sooner then maybe he could have been there to protect Bruce. That was really what he should have done. None of this waiting, waiting and killing more people when he didn't have to. If he had killed Slade, then it would have been all over. He wouldn't have had to kill all those other people, and he could have saved himself some awful years.

Scarecrow was waiting for him in one of the buildings' two cafeterias. He sat on top of a desk that overlooked all of the tables, clearly waiting for Batman to appear. He sat cross-legged, his trademark gasser sitting on his lap, and cocked his head curiously as Dick approached.

"Funny seeing you here, Batman," Scarecrow said. "After your last visit I thought you weren't coming back."

Unlike many of the other inmates, Scarecrow was cool and collected. Whenever he spoke it was with that calm professionalism born of his former career. Yet that was precisely what made Scarecrow so terrifying, as he was not insane. He was driven by a desire to try new theories, new versions of his gas on others in the same of science.

Physically, Scarecrow was not a difficult opponent. His skills were in inducing hallucinations through his gas, which nearly everyone who had fought him had experienced. But that gas allowed Scarecrow to defeat his enemies, or run away while the victim succumbed to his worst fears. Dick himself had never experienced the gas, but he knew enough about it to fear it. Last time Scarecrow had caused a problem Dick remembered how he had to help Bruce through the gas.

Dick hugged the shadows, afraid to show his true self in the little light there was. "Let Dr. Arkham go, Scarecrow," Dick said in a gravelly voice.

"Or else what? We're holding Arkham hostage. What else can you possibly do to us?"

There was no mistaking the smugness in Scarecrow's voice, and Dick couldn't help but agree with the villain. There was the fault in Bruce's logic: since he refused to kill any of these villains, they came back to haunt him. Dick understood why Bruce refused to kill anyone, but these people were so dangerous. They had caused so much harm to Gotham that they needed to be stopped for good.

"Get rid of you for good," Dick replied.

Scarecrow cocked his head to the side. "Oh, you don't sound like him. You sound tired, Batman. And what are you so afraid of that it took you this long to come back to Arkham?"

Dick threw the batarang at Scarecrow. Scarecrow disappeared into the darkness as the batarang embedded itself into the wall. Why couldn't Dick throw straight? Dick's arm shook as he bent his elbow, preparing for another long-range attack.

"Are you afraid to see me, Batman?" Scarecrow's face seem to come from everywhere. "You've never been scared of me before. Why should you be now?"

Where was Scarecrow? Dick spun around, looking for Scarecrow in the darkness, panic rising in a disgusting bile at the back of his throat. A cloud of gas surrounded Dick and made him cough.

"Gotcha."

_NO GAS NO NO NO NONO NONONONO_

Scarecrow held up his gasser and continued to bombard Dick with the gas. Dick saw Dr. Crane's eyes flash behind the burlap mask as the dim light fell upon him. In a split second Scarecrow's face turned into Slade's.

This wasn't real. Slade was dead. Everything was just in his head, and Slade wasn't the real problem. Scarecrow was. An unexpected scream tore his throat apart as he backed away. What was happening? Slade had died! Dick had killed him!

"Who are you?" Scarecrow asked through the haze. "You sound so young."

This image of Slade was so different from the real thing. The real Slade was never so tall, so menacing, but in many ways he had been this frightening. Scarecrow's voice faded into Slade's. Dick refused to look at the hallucination, but he could hear Slade walking around him, could practically hear him sighing.

"You're Batman now? How disappointing." For some reason the disappointment in Slade's voice hurt more than so many hurtful things he had said before. "I thought I asked you to be Deathstroke," Slade said. "Is this what you do to your friends, Dick? Turn your back on them?"

"You're not my friend," Dick said, putting his hands over his ears. "Stop talking to me. You're dead. You're not real."

"Because you killed me." Slade walked around to face him, reaching out to take Dick's hands away from his face. "I thought we had a deal, Dick."

"Get out of my head," Dick whimpered. "Leave me alone!"

He wasn't talking to anyone except Scarecrow, who was probably very confused. How could Scarecrow's gas do this? Make everything seem so real when it wasn't? Dick could feel the power behind Slade's hands, feel the slight rumble in his chest when Slade spoke in his deep voice. No drug should be this powerful.

_This must be what going mad feels like._

"It was bad enough that you allowed yourself to be captured, but then to turn around and shoot me in the back? How deceitful," Slade said. "It seems that I taught you too well."

"What did you except?" Dick asked in a low voice. "That I wouldn't eventually turn on you? That everything was going to be okay?"

"You could have ended it years ago," Slade said. "You could have said no to me, and you could have saved yourself years of grief. Why do something you hate?"

None of this was real. There was no one in the room except him and Scarecrow, who was doing nothing. He was probably just standing there, waiting for the fear gas to break Dick down completely.

"Dick," Bruce said firmly. "Don't panic. Everything is under control."

How was any of this under control? Scarecrow was going to kill him, or call in the Joker so the Joker could kill Batman.

"You have a gas mask in your utility belt," Bruce said. "I'm sorry, I should have told you to take it out the moment you stepped into the asylum."

Dick patted down his waist. Where was everything on this stupid belt?

"Don't freak out, Dick." A new voice. A familiar voice. No longer a girl's voice, but a woman's. "Bruce wouldn't have left you alone with Scarecrow's gas. Be rational."

Dick's eyes widened. "Batgirl?"

Had she been listening in this whole time? All at once Dick was afraid to speak, but glad she had called. Why hadn't she talked to him sooner? Why now? And why not in person?

"How can you listen to them?" The hallucination asked. "They're not your friends anymore. They didn't save you. What makes you trust their judgment? They're supposed to be the professionals, but they're the ones who left you to suffer. They didn't care enough to risk their lives to save your ass, so why should they care now?"

"We're here to talk you through everything," Barbara said. "It's not the end of the world, Dick."

"This is getting tiresome, Batman," Scarecrow said.

"Don't listen to Scarecrow or whatever your hallucinations are saying. If you do, you're dead." Barbara's voice was oddly smooth, like a 911 operator. "There's a gas mask in your utility belt. It's in the second compartment from your center buckle."

After taking a deep breath, Dick focused and pushed the compartment open, revealing one of the promised gas masks. Dick almost dropped the gas mask as he took it out and activated it. Even with Scarecrow's gas obscuring his vision, Dick managed to put the mask over his face.

"Breathe, Dick, breathe."

Dick took several deep breathes.

This was stupid. He had gone through so many things—much more terrible than what he was going through right now. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. Why this? Why now? He had learned how to control his emotions around Slade, so why was he panicking now?

"It's you!" Scarecrow said suddenly. "Batman's first kid, Slade's apprentice!"

Something overcame Dick. He couldn't quite describe the feeling, just as he couldn't describe the many hundreds of times it had overcome him before. But if he were to describe it, it would be an unexpected calmness. A realization that all of his panicking would do nothing to help the situation unless he did something, even if he didn't want to do it. The same feeling that had overcome him when Slade had forced him to do something that he didn't want to do.

At that moment Scarecrow decided to attack him, though Dick saw it seconds before Scarecrow made a move to hurt him. Anticipating your opponent's movements was one of the first things Dick had perfected as Slade's apprentice. Dick leapt over the chairs and tackled Scarecrow, pinning him to the floor. Dick ripped off Scarecrow's mask. Underneath he was just a pale, skinny professor who hid behind his fear gas. Scarecrow had no physical power to speak of, and compared to Bane Scarecrow was nothing more than a human punching bag. Dick wrapped his gloved hands around Scarecrow's neck and squeezed.

"Where is the Joker?" Dick demanded.

"You don't work for the real Batman anym—"

 _"I asked you a question,"_ Dick growled. "Answer me."

This was how he had survived all those years. He may not have been able to beat Slade before, but he could beat other people. If Scarecrow wasn't going to talk, then maybe Dick needed to resort to more drastic measures.

"Dick," Bruce said warningly, "don't kill him."

Dick loosened his grip on Scarecrow's neck. Was this really what he had become? Was killing his first option now?

"So Slade really is dead then?" Scarecrow asked softly. "The rumors are true?"

"The truth doesn't matter. I'm not the one answering questions. You are. Where is Dr. Arkham and the Joker?"

There was no time for a lengthy interrogation. Either Scarecrow would give him the information he needed, or he would dispose of Scarecrow quickly. The situation wouldn't allow him to do anything else if he wanted to minimize the causalities.

"But if I know the Joker as well as I do, he'll find you all on his own." Scarecrow's voice hardened. "You can't stop this all on your own, kid."

"Watch me. Now," Dick leaned in close to Scarecrow's face. "Where is the Joker?"

When Scarecrow tried to wriggle out of Dick's grip, Dick simply smacked him across the face. "I'm not going to ask you again, Dr. Crane: where is Dr. Arkham and the Joker?"

Robin the first would have never punched a villain in the face to interrogate him. But Dick was no longer Robin, so the Bat's rules no longer applied to him. Dr. Crane's eyes widened as he realized this.

_Yeah, that's right: I'm not a little kid anymore._

"He's in Dr. Arkham's office," Scarecrow replied in a choked voice.

"Is Dr. Arkham still alive?"

"He's fine—he's fine—but with the Joker, who knows?"

Without talking to Bruce, Dick took out a ziptie and handcuffed Scarecrow's hands behind his back. Dick shoved Scarecrow to the ground just to make sure that Scarecrow would stay down.

 _See,_ Slade's voice said. _That wasn't too bad. I've trained you for worse._

For a moment Dick didn't look up, afraid that he was going to see Slade still standing there. Judging him. Watching him. Judging him, ready to point out all of his flaws.

"Some of the gas still got in your system, but it won't consume you," Bruce said. "I don't want you here too long. Get the civilians out of here and let Gordon do the rest. Catwoman is coming inside to assist you. Don't confront the Joker unless you absolutely have to."

"But what if the police get hurt?"

"That's their _job._ The mayor is already calling the National Guard for assistance. It has never been your job, or mine, to clean up this city."

Batman was not only a vigilante, but a symbol of hope. All Dick had to do was show up and let people know that Batman was still around.

 _Is that really Bruce's plan?_ Dick thought. _Does he want me to show up and leave the work to someone else? An unseen collaboration between all of our Gothamite allies?_

Would Bruce really do that? Would he give Dick the chance to escape before things got too hairy?

_You don't have to wait for him to give you an order._

Dick paused, a hand on his ear piece. He didn't have to wait for Bruce to give him an order. He hadn't taken orders from Bruce for nearly a decade. Why should he start now? Because he had worked for Bruce for years?

_But you worked for Slade for longer._

"I know you're out here putting yourself on the line, but remember, Dick: this isn't, and will never be your job. It will never be your responsibility to save the world." Bruce paused. "I can't lose you again."

_That's rich, coming from someone who took it upon himself to save Gotham on a daily basis._

"I have a lot of crimes to make up for," Dick said. "Doing this will help erase some of the blood from my ledgers."

He turned off the ear-piece before Bruce started babbling. With Slade he had never been allowed to turn off the stupid ear piece. Dick just couldn't let any emotions cloud his mind. Hearing Bruce and Barbara's voices reminded him of too many painful memories. If he was going to finish the mess that Bruce had started, then Dick would have to shut them out. He would have to shut everyone out to focus on his immediate goal, just as he had done thousands of times before.

Maybe Dick couldn't be like Ra's al Ghul and bring all of the people he killed back to life. Maybe it was better that way. Dick had chosen to kill those people to save himself and his friends, and he had chosen badly. It was better to live with the consequences of those decisions. Those dead people reminded him of how he had failed everyone. And while Dick wanted nothing more than to fade into nothingness, he knew that he had to do this one last thing. Fix something this big, and perhaps his mind would be able to find some peace.

* * *

 

"Dammit!" Bruce shouted, slamming his hand on the desk. "I didn't want him to interact with the gas."

_Then why did you send him in there in the first place? This is wrong._

Why was Bruce really doing this? Was he putting Batman's legacy before everything else? Even at the cost of Dick's safety and health? But what other choice did Bruce have? He had already tried putting someone else in Batman's shoes, and that had failed miserably.

He had told Dick that he could defeat Bane, but he told Dick this because he believed that Dick was smart enough not to confront Bane in a street fight. Dick knew that he should not engage in serious combat with any of these villains, considering his mental and physical state, so why was he lumbering after the Joker? Why was he not waiting for outside help?

"Oracle, I want you to put all of your efforts into helping him. Re-establish the connection and tell him to back off from the Joker."

"You want me to micro-manage him?"

"He won't be able to do this. I made a mistake. And don't you dare lecture me!" Bruce pushed himself up, as though he intended to stand up, but a wave of pain forced him back into his seat. "Whatever happens, he will go to the Watch Tower."

"He won't want to go to the Watch Tower," Barbara replied. "Dick's not going to back down from this now."

"I told him that he can leave whenever he wants to. He knows that if things get too hot he needs to get out of there."

Being wrong was one of the things that Bruce hated the most. But what could he do now? He harassed Dick into becoming Batman, and now the kid couldn't be stopped.

"Even when this is over, it's not going to be over," Barbara said. "I hope you understand that."

Even if all else failed, at least Dick and the others would be safe. They had to get out of this alive. If Bruce didn't manage to do that, then he had truly failed.

* * *

 

Catwoman found a closet full of orderlies. They were young guys, probably just out of medical school and doing their residency work. Bad luck that they chose Arkham. Their white uniforms were splattered with blood and they really, really smelled.

"How long you guys been in here?" she asked quietly.

"Days."

There were empty water bottles on the floor. They didn't look strong enough to fight their way out if they encountered any of the inmates. They needed an escort.

"Where are they?"

"They have guns," one of the orderlies whispered. "They took the kitchen, so they can hold out for another week at least."

She glanced around, as though she was afraid that someone could hear her. Who knew what was going on between these walls?

"Catwoman!"

She turned around and put a finger to her mouth. What was the idiot boy thinking, making noise like that? Everyone must talk in whispers.

Catwoman had only known Dick as Robin. He was definitely not the same. He was shorter than Bruce, and he didn't have as much muscle. The kid looked stricken and distracted. He must have seen some weird crap under Scarecrow's gas.

"Don't underestimate him," Bruce said through the earpiece. "He's killed more people than either of us."

If he had killed so many people, why did he look like a nervous wreck? "Shouldn't he have this one in the bag, then?"

"We'll discuss this later," Bruce said. "Help him in any way that you can."

She hadn't talked to Bruce since the kid came back. Bruce was so focused on retrieving the kid that he sometimes forgot everything else. Not that Catwoman blamed him—she would probably do the same if it had been her kid.

"I'm here to help," Catwoman said. "I can get these people out, or we can do it together—"

"I don't need your help," Dick said. "Take the orderlies outside to the police. I'll go after the Joker myself."

"Don't you dare face the Joker by yourself," Catwoman said, grabbing Dick's arm.

Even though Catwoman couldn't hear what Oracle was saying to him exactly, she knew that he was listening to her.

"I'm the only one strong enough to defeat him," Dick said flatly. "Jackal hired Bane to kill Slade. He knew that Bane could kill Slade because he had destroyed Batman. But Jackal was wrong: I was the one who killed Slade."

"The Joker isn't like Slade!"

"No one can ever be as terrible as Slade."

With that cowl on his face, she could not read Dick's expression. But he seemed coldly determined, a different person entirely. While Catwoman knew that there was only so much she could do, and a limit to how much she cared (for she did not know Dick personally), she could not help but feel a little disturbed.

"You're not in your right mind," Catwoman hissed. "He doesn't really want him to go after the Joker. It's suicide. Stick with the plan and we might just get out of this alive."

"You shouldn't even be involved, Catwoman."

"And you should be?"

"Just stay out of my way."

Dick pushed her aside, more roughly than she anticipated. There was more power in that single push than she had even seen in the kid before. Was it just her imagination, or had Dick become more like Bruce in the past five years?

Catwoman and the orderlies watched Batman stalk off. Well, there was no use trying to go after him right this second. Perhaps Scarecrow's gas was making him angry or whatever.

"Don't worry, Selina, we're going to stop him," Bruce said. "We're trying to reach Batwoman so that no one will have to face the Joker on their own."

"Are you implying that I might have to face the Joker on my own?"

"You knew the risks, just as everyone else did."

Catwoman huffed. Some job this was. Getting angry at Dick wouldn't help anyone, though. The best thing she could do was let Dick cool off as she got these orderlies out of here.


	18. Fresh Hell

Dick left before Catwoman was able to stop him from leaving without her. What could she do to him? She was nothing more than a common thief with a gimmick. If she wanted to keep him from facing the Joker, then she was going to have to do better than that.

It occurred to him, faintly, that he should have helped her get the orderlies out. They were weak and injured. They needed medical attention. But while he wanted to help them, he felt that they didn't matter unless he took the Joker down. Until he took out those responsible for all this death and destruction, then this chaos would not stop.

As he walked down the dark corridor, he allowed his thoughts to wander. He had spent a longer time working with Slade than he had working with the Titans. Could he ever work with them again, or was there too much distance between them? If he asked for help, would they help him?

He turned a corner and found Dr. Arkham's office. There was no doubt that the Joker was in this room, for it was the only room with the lights turned on and the Joker's cackles floated through the door. After taking a deep breath, Dick gathered his strength and opened the door.

There he was: the stuff of nightmares, the Batman's greatest enemy, sitting on Dr. Arkham's desk. An agent of chaos who didn't care if he lived or died. Better make sure that his sidekick Harley wasn't around to cause trouble. That was the last thing Dick needed.

"Let Dr. Arkham go," Dick said.

"Or else what?" the Joker asked. His stupid grin never let up. "Come on, Batsy, you know how I work."

So, the Joker hadn't yet guessed that this wasn't the real Batman.

"I don't have time for games," Dick said. "If you don't let him go, then you will wish you were dead."

For the first time since he had become Batman, Dick allowed himself to growl. This was going to end in the next ten minutes, or God help him Dick was going to kill the Joker.

Nearby, in the corner, Dr. Arkham whimpered. Dick glanced at him briefly and assessed the situation. The Joker had rigged up some sort of contraption that placed the barrel of a gun to Dr. Arkham's head. Another one the Joker's gimmicky death-traps. Thank God Slade never bothered with those.

"You've said that many times before, Bats," the Joker replied, wagging his finger at him. "But you never really mean it."

He sang those last few words.

Dick didn't have time for this. He lunged forward and threw a batarang.

There was no time for any of the Joker's games, for there was no method to the Joker's madness. Chaos was the Joker's game, and to defeat him you had to play dirty. You could not have a plan, because no matter what you did the Joker would find some way to mess it up, even if he didn't mean to.

"Missed me," the Joker sang.

Dick skidded behind Dr. Arkham's desk. He found a letter opener and grabbed it without thinking. Thinking too much was dangerous, and Dick had to rely on his instincts if he wanted to survive. Dick chucked the letter opener and pinned the Joker's hand to the wall. The Joker's knife clattered to the floor.

"Next time it goes through your eye," Dick growled.

For some reason Dick wanted the Joker to know that it was him. Dick wanted the Joker to know that it wasn't Bruce under the cowl, but someone else, someone who was willing to kill him.

_If I kill him, then it would all end._

Dick's hands trembled as he grabbed another Batarang, suddenly remembering that he had an extra one. Perhaps he was the only one who could end it all: Slade. The Joker. Bane. Eliminate everything poisonous from his life. Maybe, just maybe, things would calm down, and Dick would finally be at peace.

The Joker's eyes widened, though his shock was only visible for a moment. "You're right. You're someone new, someone I've met before. Who are you, kiddo?"

"You don't deserve an answer," Dick growled.

Confusion muddled the Joker's face, but then comprehension dawned. He yanked the letter opener from his hand and dropped it. His laughter rose in a crescendo, beginning as an amused chuckle, and rose until his entire body shook with hysteria. It happened so quickly that Dick paused, uncertain how to proceed.

"I've heard of you," the Joker said. "Oh how I've heard of you and your little field trips with Principal One-Eye! What a fantastic joke, what a twisted turn of events! Everything turned out funnier than I could have hoped! You're the first Robin who's come to fill your daddy's shoes!" Tears of laughter started streaming down the Joker's face.

The Joker's head snapped back as Dick punched him in the face. As the Joker tried to reorient himself Dick grabbed the madman by the neck, his grip tightening when the Joker struggled.

"Oh, did I make you mad?"

Dick brought his fist back to hit the Joker again, but then he paused. The Joker's nose wasn't quite broken, but Dick had hit him hard enough to cause some bleeding.

_If you kill the Joker, then that makes you just as bad as Slade._

What difference did it make now?

"Don't talk," Dick snapped. "Don't move. If you do, I will kill you."

"You're funny, kid."

Blood soaked his glove. Even the pads on his gloves weren't enough to soften the blows. He hadn't done anything like this in a long time. With Slade, the kills were quick and clean. No messing around beating people up—the only one who had gotten beaten was Dick. No more, no more.

It was so easy to lose control. So easy to kill because it was convenient. But right now, he couldn't kill anyone even though it would be convenient. He could not because killing is something Batman would not do.

The Joker yanked Dick's arms away from his throat and pulled Dick to the ground.

"You're not the real Batman," the Joker snarled. "You're a nuisance, bird-boy."

The Joker's thin fingers squeezed Dick's throat. The laughter had died down as the Joker's face twisted into a snarl.

Spots appeared in Dick's eyes as he struggled to free himself. Even though the Joker wasn't made of brawn there was something else that kept him going. Fighting the Joker was like wrestling a live wire. There was no method to his fighting, and he thrashed and flailed wherever he pleased. Yet beneath that electrified thrashing there was some semblance of control. However the Joker functioned, he did it well, for he could somehow control his fanatic array of punches and kicks to kill him.

 _He killed the second Robin_ … Dick thought weakly. _I can't let him kill me too._

Another kid had lived and died as Robin without Dick knowing any better. If he had not been Slade's apprentice, then he would not have allowed it to happen.

"No!"

In an instant Dick had rolled back on top of the Joker. Before he allowed himself to think he smashed his fist into the Joker's face.

"Joke's on you," Dick said.

The Joker lay unnaturally still.

After confirming the he had knocked the Joker out, Dick turned and threw another batarang towards Dr. Arkham. He flinched as the batarang cut away the rope near his neck, and as the rope fell away Dick saw a thin stream of blood trickle down Arkham's neck.

Well, that wasn't so hard.

Dr. Arkham looked up, his arms trembling as he lowered them to take a look at Dick. There were gashes and bruises all over his face, and he didn't want to look at Dick.

"Come on, Dr. Arkham," Dick said. "We're getting out of here now."

Dr. Arkham trembled, muttering something incomprehensible, and he refused to stand up. Dick bent down and yanked Dr. Arkham to his feet. "We have to go now."

 _I have to be the strong one now,_ Dick thought.

He felt another headache coming, one that would make his head feel trapped in a vice. The kind of headaches he had all the time from sheer exhaustion.

 _I did it because he asked me to,_ Dick thought. _Because he told me to._

Bruce said that he didn't have to do this, but it was implied. It was expected. Before, when this whole mess began, Slade had given him a choice. But it was implied that he would agree to the deal, expected that he would do anything that Slade asked because Slade had made sure that he was trapped.

Why was he feeling this way? Just minutes ago he felt as though he could do anything. Now he felt awful, and tired, and a little sick to his stomach.

A plan formed in his mind. So clear, so simple, why didn't he think of it before? It was the perfect way to end this without anything ending badly. Because he had spent so long working with Slade, and because Slade had given Dick all of his contacts, safehouses and the like, Dick had more at his command than many ordinary heroes. There were resources in Gotham and other nearby cities he could tap into. If he had the time. If it would work.

If this and if that. It was time to stop thinking like that. It was time to stop meandering. Action would get things done, and action was the only way he would solve his problems.

* * *

 

Catwoman rounded the corner, and she looked like she had just spent the past five minutes running after him.

"I'll take Dr. Arkham," she said, gently disengaging Dick's hand from Dr. Arkham's arm.

Catwoman had seen many things during her criminal career. It couldn't be helped, especially in Gotham, though every new wave of death and destruction troubled her more and more. Compared to her, the villains who inhabited this town were terrifying. Inhuman. And it was because of things like this, of how she saw good people suffer, made her believe that stealing wasn't so bad. She wasn't hurting anyone except those she stole from, and even then those people could afford to lose some money.

"I think…" Dick said slowly. "I'm going to leave Gotham now."

Poor kid. All that indecision, all that time he spent trying to decide what to do, and now he could not complete his task. Catwoman could even see Dick's shame through the mask. He felt ashamed that he felt unable to defeat Bane after promising Bruce that he could do it.

"There is no shame in backing down, kid," Catwoman said.

He looked at her. That shameful expression did not belong on Batman. Dick brushed her hand away from his shoulder and looked away, saying nothing all the while.

He was still a child in so many ways.

* * *

 

After what seemed like an eternity to Bruce, everyone came back online.

Dick had beaten the Joker? Just like that? Bruce couldn't believe it. It should have taken him longer. The Joker wouldn't have given up without a fight. What was Dick doing differently? Surely Dick was just as determined, perhaps even more so, than Bruce to take down the Joker. Why had Dick done it so fast?

"He doesn't want to waste time," Barbara said. "He just wants to face Bane and get it over with."

"He's getting reckless," Bruce replied.

"And you're going to stop him?"

Could Bruce stop Dick? In his current state, no. Bruce could not stop him. But did he really want to stop Dick?

"What's he doing now, Selina?" Barbara asked.

"I don't know. He's gone now. I tried to stop him, but he left me with Dr. Arkham."

Bruce trusted Dick to come up with a plan. He had to, and even in his state he would not fail to help everyone. But at what cost? Dick had freaked out, and then nearly killed the Joker, judging from Catwoman's continued rantings. Would he really kill someone?

_He has before._

But he had only killed at Slade's command. The fact of the matter was that Bruce did not know what Dick was thinking. He did not know how Dick felt about killing others as a mean to an end. All he knew was that Slade commanding him to kill people had affected him deeply. And just because it bothered Dick did not mean that he was unwilling to kill people if it meant that he could get out of the situation more quickly.

* * *

 

Tim and Stephanie followed a path of destruction towards Bane's new hideout. Or, at least, where Tim thought that Bane's new hideout was. All of his hunches were based on his own deductions and Bruce's intelligence.

For the past two weeks Tim had been helping Bruce track down Bane, and only lost track of the guy when he went away to Europe for an unknown reason. That reason was illuminated by Dick's sudden return to Gotham.

"I'm not going to leave you alone with Bane," Stephanie said.

"Sure you can—"

"Bane broke Bruce's back. Even Dick can't beat him. That means that you can't."

Tim knew that. Of course he knew that. He found himself slightly irritated that Stephanie felt the need to repeat the information to him.

"I can try."

"Don't you remember what happened to you when you fought Clayface?" Stephanie practically puffed up with rage. "You'll end up dead if you provoke Bane."

"And what if we don't have a choice?" Tim asked. "Bruce can't save us. No one can."

Everyone knew the day would come when Bruce wouldn't be able to protect them anymore. No one had said it out loud (who would anyway), but it seemed as though everyone had gotten more disillusioned with Bruce ever since Dick disappeared. Again, not a thing said out loud, but merely implied through conversations Tim had with other people in the business.

"If Dick asks you to leave with him, you'd probably think that it's cowardly," Stephanie said. "But there's no harm in running away, especially if you're gonna end up dead."

Would Dick ask Tim to stop? To run away?

Tim didn't know him, plain and simple. He only knew what was in the public archives, and even then people changed. Dick certainly had. Dick Grayson had killed people, and even if it had been against his will, who knew what Dick was thinking now?

"We have no choice," Tim said, echoing Bruce's words. "We all have to pull our weight. We all have to make a difference, or else there will be nothing left at all."

Tim had to protect the people he loved first. Sure, he idolized Dick as Robin, but now that idolization seemed moot. Tim had to make sure that his dad was all right, that his friends at school wouldn't get hurt because of all this.

He was selfish. He knew that. They all were, in a way. Tim wanted to protect those he loved, and he knew that he hadn't known Dick long enough to have him care about him or his family.

"ROBIN, LOOK OUT!"

Tim heard a second too late. Something—or someone—collided with him. Tim stumbled backwards, trying his best to right himself as his attacked continued to run at him. Eventually Tim found his footing, just before his heels found the edge of the rooftop. He heard Stephanie rush to his aid as he lifted his head to face his attacker:

Bane.

* * *

 

"Are you NUTS?" Beast Boy demanded. "Why would we do that?! And what's this about you being Batman?"

The Titans, busy with work in Jump City, didn't know much about the situation in Gotham City. All that Beast Boy knew was that something was going on, something bad that made every Gothamite silent with terror.

So when Beast Boy answered the call from Gotham, he had expected Bruce Wayne, not Dick, on the other end.

"That's not important," Dick replied. "I need your help. I gave you and the Titans everything you need to clean out Slade's hideout."

Oh yeah. Beast Boy made a face that Dick couldn't see. "This is messed up. I thought you would have destroyed everything."

"That place was my home for five years. I didn't destroy all of it. Please do what I asked."

Dick hung up. How rude!

Beast Boy felt like pulling his hair out. After not interacting with Dick for five years he had expected the guy to take it slow. Lie low for a bit, not do anything dramatic, stuff like calling up Titans Tower and demanding that they should drop everything to help him.

Raven fumed.

"This isn't right," she snapped. "Something's wrong. Dick shouldn't be Batman, not in his current state of mind. It will unhinge him."

"If he wants to do it—" Beast Boy began.

"Dick will feel like he doesn't have a choice," Raven said.

"How do you know?" Beast Boy demanded. "You haven't talked to him in forever."

"He's never had a choice, not for five years. The only choice he has had is the choice to suffer to save his friends. When you're stuck like that for a long time, what do you do when you finally do it? Don't you see, Beast Boy? Dick is only doing this because saving his friends at the cost of his own happiness is the only thing he has done for five years. What else would he do if he wasn't Batman now? Wallow in self-loathing and depression? This doesn't mean anything to him when it should."

"So what should we do?" Beast Boy asked. "Go over there and help him?"

"I want to," she said. "I want to so badly, but we don't know what's going on. Villains all over the country could have gotten organized."

Jeepers, and to think that Beast Boy was worried about the HIVE kids! What Dick was planning to do to fix the situation was nuts, and Beast Boy wondered if Dick even had enough time to do what he wanted to do. It was crazy dangerous, and even though Beast Boy thought that he himself was reckless, Dick beat them all.

"Nothing's going to stop us!" Beast Boy said. "I'm sure Star or Vic would be willing to help!"

But was that the right thing to do? What if interfering would cause Dick to fail again? The Titans had tried so hard to help him by interfering in Slade's work, but every time they tried someone would get hurt. The first time they had realized that they were infected with the nanobots. The other times they had tried to help Dick got hurt.

"Come on," Raven said, grabbing Beast Boy's hand. "Tell me everything he asked you to do. And then we'll talk with the others."

* * *

 

There was something odd about tonight. Not in the sense that the villain disliked the night, but there was something strange in the air, an unease that he could not quite describe. The villain stood on the rooftop overlooking Gotham, marveling at the destruction before him. It really had deteriorated since his time away.

A glance at the newspaper headlines told him what was going on. He suspected that, in the midst of such chaos, he would not be noticed. But when people did, it would be in a tour-de-force, and considering the current circumstances that would work to his advantage.

Dick Grayson was a threat, even if he didn't want to admit it. After all these years the boy had finally gone from sidekick to a threat. For so many years everyone had thought of him as Batman's sidekick, as a nuisance who started the Teen Titans, but now he was so much more. The kid had persevered through so many hardships, and now he was Batman, if his sources were correct.

The other Bat kids were out and about, and he would deal with them in time. The villain—though he did not consider himself one—checked his watch. He was in no hurry. Let the chaos come to him, instead of the other way around.

Considering the players tonight, there was no need for a master plan, even though it irritated him. Play it by ear, and see what would happen. That was the only thing he could do now, before he decided to crash this villainous party.

**End of Part 2**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. 
> 
> For those also reading Eastern Sky: I'm sorry. I messed up the chapter orders and confused myself. I am gonna fix it this week and upload the rest of the fic, plus include a surprise at the end. 
> 
> And thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you're all enjoying this story!


	19. Interlude: Stabilize

"For what it's worth…getting the shit kicked out of you? Not to say you, uh, get used to it…but you do kind of get used to it."

-Breaking Bad

* * *

 

One year into the apprenticeship and Dick had yet to make an impression on Slade, or so he felt. It seemed as though the newness of having someone to terrorize had worn off, and Slade had become bored with him. Training sessions were the same every day. Sometimes they changed the daily schedule up, sometimes Slade mixed in different kinds of lessons, but overall the days seemed duller.

"Do you not feel appreciated, Dick?"

"You certainly don't make me feel like you want me around."

Here they were again, talking about their feelings. How they ever got around to it Dick didn't know. He never intended to talk about his feelings with Slade, as Slade was the last person he wanted to talk to, but in times like these he ended up announcing how he felt because there was no other person to talk to.

"Well, let's think about it for a minute." Dick did not miss the sarcasm in Slade's voice. "When I ask you to do something, you only do it because I told you to. So how can I appreciate your work when you drag your heels into the dirt and complain every second when I ask you to do something?"

"But—" How could Dick put his thoughts into words? "It's not even about—"

"Show me that you care about your work here, and we'll talk again."

"I'm learning what you asked me to—"

"But not at the rate you are capable of learning."

"I have tried!"

Dick hated how he sounded: like a whiny child. That was not how he wished to sound, especially when trying to make his argument convincing.

"As opposed to what?"

"I agreed to let everything I know go just to be here. Surely you can appreciate that."

"Why, do you thrive on appreciation?"

Why did Slade make it sound like it was a bad thing?

"I don't 'thrive' on appreciation," Dick snapped. "I have rights."

"You mean privileges."

"They are not privileges! They are rights!"

"And what are your rights?

Dick couldn't come up with an adequate answer. Twisting his words to make them sound acceptable to Slade was tough work.

"Maybe 'rights' is too strong a word," Dick mumbled.

"Better." Slade paused, considering him, and for a few seconds Dick wondered how Slade would retaliate. "And what would your privileges be?"

The way Slade phrased his words made it seem like Dick had said something wrong. But that was the way that Slade wanted him to think.

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

This was a test. It had to be. Even when Dick started a conversation, Slade somehow made everything into a test. At this very moment Slade was waiting for his response. He would judge Dick's words and plan his next move.

"I've been here for a year," Dick said, raising his voice. "Don't I deserve something for sticking around for so long?"

Vacations were out of the question. Time off was on an arbitrary basis, pretty much whenever Slade felt like leaving him alone. At first Slade looked at him, bewildered, but then he smirked. "I suppose you're right. What are your _demands?"_

Dick bristled. "I want to go outside."

"It's a bad neighborhood. There's nothing to do within twenty miles of this place, even if you wanted to go out. You know that."

"Don't you ever want to escape here?" Dick gestured to the gears above them. "If this place is depressing to me, then it surely is to you."

Slade did escape. Whether it was to his own quarters or out into town, Dick knew that Slade needed his own personal space. There was no way that Slade left for business every time he left the Haunt. He was, after all, human too.

"Any reason in particular I should listen to you?"

Dick bit back a smart comment. It was clear that, even now, Slade still did not consider Dick a threat.

 _You should listen to me because, one day, I will beat you down,_ Dick thought. _You and I know that._

But now was not the time to discuss that. Keeping it a secret—if it was even a secret from Slade—would be key to defeating Slade. If he could defeat Slade.

"I'll be in a much better mood. I promise. I'll be better at training, I swear."

There was no room for compromise, no matter how much Dick wanted to. The way Slade looked at him was like an adult looking at an incompetent child. As though Slade was merely tolerating him instead of listening to him, which Dick figured was most of the time.

"I appreciate you greatly, Dick, even if I don't say it. And I mean that." Slade set a hand on Dick's shoulder and squeezed gently, paternally. "Your blueprints have been very helpful to me, and I could not have completed many of my tasks without your assistance. But remember that you are here to learn, and too many distractions will hinder your progress."

"I understand, Sir."

"Good." Slade took his hand away. "Then we will discuss terms and conditions at a more appropriate time. Is that clear, Dick?"

"Yes, Sir."

It wasn't as if Slade would change. Why would he? Slade had no reason to change, or compromise, so long as Dick obeyed him in the end.

* * *

 

Two years was a long time, much too long for Dick to believe that he was still in this apprenticeship. So far he had successfully abstained from killing anyone, though he knew his time was running low. Dick suspected that Slade had been allowing him to refuse simply because he was still young, still a teenager, but now that he was eighteen Dick suspected that Slade's leniency would end.

However, he didn't have much time to think about that, as he was running errands today in Jump. Slade asked him to walk around in civvies until he arrived at the designated meeting place, just so he wouldn't attract attention.

Dick carried around a backpack, which would be filled with cash from a client who refused to pay electronically. All Dick had to do was pick up Slade's payment, make sure all the cash was accounted for, and head back to the Haunt. Easy enough to do, except for the fact that he would be walking straight into danger. The slight weight in the backpack was, Dick assumed, a gun in case he should need it to defend himself.

His jeans stuck to his legs and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. Sweat collected on the bridge of his nose, where his oversized sunglasses rested. He wished that he could have worn board shorts and flip-flops, as was the current city fashion, but that was too relaxed for meeting with Jump's criminal underground.

Her name was Miss Quail, though Dick could not be certain if that name was an alias or not. Dick suspected that she was connected with the HIVE Headmistress, though he could not prove it without asking outright. And right now, it was not his place to question those above him. She was not a big time client, no one that the Titans followed, so far as he knew, but she had wanted someone dead and paid well for it.

Slade had given him the entire afternoon to fulfill this task. Taking an afternoon off from training was always a good thing, since it meant less time with Slade, but he wished that Slade hadn't sent him off to collect blood money.

Dick flashed his communicator—emblazoned with Slade's symbol—to the man guarding the door. Slade's symbol carried a lot of weight around town, even if people weren't really sure that Dick worked for Slade they would not risk angering the villain. The guard opened the door, muttered something to someone inside, and then motioned for Dick to come in.

After being patted down for weapons he was allowed inside, and one of the henchmen led him to a large, well-lit room with wainscoted walls. A middle-aged woman looked up at him from a mahogany desk as he approached.

"You're right on time, boy."

"I like being punctual," Dick replied.

The villainess studied him closely, smiling as she looked at him. Despite himself, Dick's cheeks burned.

 _Slade sent me to flatter the villainess,_ Dick thought, not daring to look up at the woman. Who would want to deal with gruff, laconic, sporting a bad goatee Slade?

The woman got up from her desk. If she had been some woman he saw on the street, Dick would have thought that she was a normal businesswoman from the way she dressed. She waved away her henchmen and stepped closer to Dick. "You're Slade's apprentice, aren't you?"

"I am. I'm here on his behalf to collect the money you owe him for his latest contract."

"Did you help him with my contract, young man?"

The murdered man's contorted face flashed through his mind. He hadn't killed the man, but he had been there. He could have stopped it. "I did."

"What can I call you?"

"Ravager."

That was the name he and Slade had agreed upon. No matter what his status, Dick didn't want to give out his real name unless it was absolutely necessary. Even after all this time he still wanted to protect his friends by protecting his own identity. It was the least he could do.

"Here," Dick said, shrugging the backpack off. "Slade would appreciate it if you would place his payment here."

She nodded. One of her henchmen set a black briefcase on the table and opened it. Dick knew the exact amount Slade was supposed to receive, and if he returned with anything less there would be trouble. He counted the bills quickly, and then once more to check his numbers.

"I'm so glad Slade sent someone so agreeable to negotiate," she said. "Does he give you a portion of his earnings?"

"No, Ma'am."

She pulled out an extra few bills from the black box and put them in his hand. "Your commission, then."

"I can't acc—" Dick stopped himself. He was being rude, and he could always give the extra money to Slade, or to some organization of his choosing, if he was discreet. "Thank you for your generosity."

He opened his backpack and paused, uncertain. At the bottom of the bag was the trigger to the probes that terrorized the Titans. It couldn't be it. He was surely seeing things.

 _I could run,_ Dick thought. _Just grab it and run to the Tower._

But what would happen if he did? Slade didn't leave this in here by accident. It had to be a test. What if it was just a replica? He couldn't be sure.

"Ravager?"

Dick looked up. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I got distracted. Please continue the transaction, so we may both go back to our business."

One of her henchmen stuffed the backpack full of bills. Dick's stomach rolled. Now he would have to walk across the city with thousands of dollars on his back and the knowledge that he carried the trigger to the nanoscopic probes.

"Next time I contact Slade for a contract I'd like to talk to you," Miss Quail said.

"I'll take note," Dick replied. "Slade likes to keep his clients happy. I hope we do business again."

"I'm sure we will."

She winked at him. Cheeks still burning, Dick shrugged on the backpack and walked out the door. He thought about just running off with the money and trigger once he left the vicinity, but what good would it do? He had promised Slade that he would do this, and Dick didn't like unfulfilled promises. Yet all this time he could have just looked in the backpack and escaped before coming here.

When Dick arrived back at the Haunt and presented the client's money to Slade, he did not say a word about the trigger. Dick was not dismissed until Slade finished counting the money.

"Why is there extra?"

"She felt you did a good job and deserved some extra."

"I see."

Slade looked at Dick, a smile plastered on his face that Dick didn't like. Slade eventually took the backpack out of Dick's reach and never spoke of the incident again.

For days, weeks, months afterwards Dick thought about that day over and over again, and all the while he could not think about it without wanting to throw up. For although he could have left, it felt wrong to leave without Slade's explicit permission. They still had unfinished business, and without risking the lives of his friends Dick would never know if Slade had been truly testing him or not.

* * *

 

Three years later.

Bodies piled up over time. Every time Dick closed his eyes he saw one of the dead faces, a reminder of how he had failed. He wished that everything would stop, that he could have a respite. Even when weeks stretched between killings Dick felt that there was not enough time to think or feel anything.

Most of the time he had no control over the deaths, though when he technically did he still felt no control. Slade had committed most of the murders while Dick watched. Observation was part of his coursework, and was no longer optional. He knew the day would come when he would have to commit greater crimes, yet when it arrived he found that he still could not manage the emotional fallout.

He felt sick most of the time and he couldn't sleep. His insomnia felt worse than before, for instead of lying awake he got up in the middle of the night to vomit. His continual sickness could not be attributed to anything other than stress—though, of course, Slade would never accept that explanation.

Dick sat on one of the workbenches in a corner of the main room, his back to the giant television screens, which had been turned off. He was doing some routine maintenance on the Sladebots, which constantly required attention. Grease covered his arms up to his elbows and smeared his jeans. He had done this routine so many times that he barely thought about what he was doing, and allowed his mind to wander to the conversation Slade and Wintergreen were having on the other side of the room.

"I believe you should let him rest, Slade." Wintergreen's voice, though slight and soft, floated through the empty Haunt. "Your schedule isn't suiting him. Pacing is key to getting him through this."

Dick set down one of his tools and grasped a rag, trying to suppress his sudden nausea. He could not succumb to sickness. Not here, not now, not when people depended on him. Not when his situation depended on his behavior. Yet he could not control his rolling stomach or his episodes of uncontrollable weeping. Why Slade even tolerated this behavior Dick hadn't the slightest clue, but he wished that Slade wouldn't. He wished that Slade would realize that Dick wasn't the perfect apprentice, that Dick wasn't cut out for this sort of work, and that he really wasn't worth the effort.

"He's fine."

Dick wiped his oily hands on the rag and kept his eyes on the Sladebot as he heard Slade approach. Before he could shut the Sladebot's head Slade did.

"You still have two left," Slade said. "I gave you the whole afternoon to do this."

"I know. I'm sorry, Sir."

Slade caught his wrist as Dick reached for the toolbox again. "You can stop if you want." Slade let go of Dick's wrist. "It's all right. You didn't finish because you were thorough."

Dick said nothing. He was only aware of the grease smeared all over his arms and face and a sense of dissatisfaction with his unfinished task.

"Doing the maintenance is a lot of work, isn't it?" Slade said, turning to look at the Sladebots. "You picked up robotics a lot more quickly than I thought you would. I trust you with them now. You know that, right?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you enjoy working with the robots, Dick?"

"It's something to do."

Slade sat down on the workbench opposite Dick and pulled the toolbox towards him. "Would you prefer to stay here and finish your work on the robots tomorrow evening?"

Dick looked at Slade, his expression neutral. Tomorrow night he was supposed to accompany Slade on another contract. "I would prefer that, Sir."

Slade closed the toolbox. "We both have a lot of work to do, don't we? Me with my contract and you with the Sladebots. It would be so much easier if we split up the work, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I trust you to finish this tomorrow without any help. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good." Slade smiled. "I appreciate it. Now get cleaned up."

Dick stood up and left the room, never once glancing back at either Slade or Wintergreen.

Throughout the whole evening Dick wondered why Slade tolerated his unacceptable behavior. There was no reason for leniency, since Slade had not tolerated unfinished tasks before, and usually berated him for it.

Eventually he realized why Slade said what he had, and Dick's conclusion didn't improve his mood. For when he thought about the whole sitaution in his current misery, Dick eventually realized that he was an investment. Slade wouldn't give up on him because he was a stubborn old bastard. He had invested so many years into Dick's education that he wasn't going to give up now. For better, or for worse, they were both going to be unhappy for a while.

For the time being, Dick said nothing. There was nothing he had to say, and nothing he could say that would dissuade Slade. And he knew that Slade would take his silence for consent, and that was enough to make Slade believe that he had won. Who knew? Maybe Slade already had.

* * *

 

Four years had passed, although Dick often ignored the date. Whenever he stopped to think about the date his depression worsened. Getting up in the morning was an arduous task, even on the best of days.

Dick automatically woke up just before six AM just out of habit. His body didn't want to move, but he also didn't want to start his day with Wintergreen shaking him awake. If he was going to get through his long, long day then he was going to do it his own way. This morning, however, someone woke him ten minutes before his usual wake-up time. Five-thirty was early, even for him, and especially when his sleeping schedule was regulated.

"Wake up!"

Dick rolled onto his other side and found Slade shaking him awake. Slade usually wasn't around at breakfast, let alone the one to wake him up.

"It's early," Dick said, glancing at his alarm clock. "You didn't tell me—"

"I don't need to tell you anything," Slade snapped. "Get up."

Dick didn't need telling twice. Slade stomped out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Dick got dressed more quickly than usual and made sure to tuck the corners of his bed sheets in extra tightly before going to the kitchen. He figured that Slade must be in one of his moods today, and anything Dick said or did could upset him. Best to minimize the fallout.

Breakfast was nothing but a bowl of cereal and a cup of water. Somehow it seemed fitting, for this morning's unusual start upset his stomach. Even though he didn't want to eat anything, Dick shoved spoonful after spoonful of bland cereal into his mouth. When he was finished he moved to clean up his dishes just so he wouldn't have to share this uneasy silence with Slade, who had sat across from him and stared the entire time.

Dick knocked over his glass of water. It was a plastic cup, and it was just water, but for some reason he felt more anxious about it this morning above all mornings. Slade's head snapped around.

"You're clumsy." Slade threw a rag at him. "Clean it up."

"What…" Dick caught the rag and stared at Slade. Yeah, Slade was an asshole, but there was something different about this morning, though he could not quite say what. "I'm sorry. It was an accident."

"An accident or a deliberate act of disobedience?"

"I—Sir," Dick began, trying to hide his indignation, "I didn't mean to."

What a great start to his morning. Why was it that he hadn't done anything yet, and Slade felt the need to terrorize him?

"You're more than capable of cleaning up after yourself without making a bigger mess." Slade suddenly loomed up near him, so quickly that Dick had to fight the urge to step back. "Don't try my patience today."

Being unreasonable was one of Slade's favorite pastimes, but this was ridiculous, even for Slade. "It was an accident and you know it. What's wrong with you?"

Slade slapped him. "Clean your mess up and report to training. That's all you need to concern yourself about."

Dick exhaled slowly, trying to process what just happened. There was nothing more he wanted to do than snark back, but he held his words back. If Slade was in a bad mood, then there was no point in exacerbating the situation. "Of course, Sir."

With a huff Slade left the room. Dick picked up his empty cup and mopped up the water. Dick scrubbed the floor again to get rid of any water stains he may have missed, all the while wondering why Slade was having him clean up. There were certain chores he was expected to do, even as a reluctant member of this household, but the heavy duty cleaning was left for Wintergreen.

He was overthinking this. Slade was clearly trying to teach him a lesson. Dick didn't mind cleaning up his own mess, but he disliked the way Slade asked him to do it. Why couldn't he just ask nicely? At least then Dick wouldn't have cleaned with so much discontent in his heart.

Reporting to training on time was more important than snapping back at Slade. Whatever was pissing Slade off this morning would die down by the afternoon. Hopefully.

When he arrived in the training room a few minutes later the pain of the bruise on his face had ebbed to a dull throbbing. It didn't even hurt anymore, not more than any other bruise he received while fighting. Slade was waiting for him, though he wasn't waiting to ambush Dick.

"Hey," Slade said, "I'm sorry. That outburst…it was uncalled for."

Dick flinched when Slade tried to put an ice pack near the bruise on his face. "I'm fine."

He didn't want Slade anywhere near him. Wintergreen was usually the one who attended his injuries, so what was Slade up to? Was he trying to seem less impersonal?

"Thank you, Sir." Dick pressed the ice pack to his face, though he never let his gaze fall away from Slade. "What is today's schedule?"

"Nothing too spectacular. We'll work on some of your inconsistent moves, and then go on with your robotics lessons."

There was something about Slade's voice that seemed off. Dick thought about the whole morning, and he finally realized what was bothering him.

"Slade?"

"Yes?"

"Where's Wintergreen?"

The expression on Slade's face changed at once. It was so subtle that, if Dick had not worked for Slade for a couple years already, he would have not noticed. Even so, Dick wasn't prepared for the second slap that followed.

"I don't have time for stupid questions." Slade took away the ice pack. "You are not in a position to ask about my personal life or Wintergreen's. Do not ask again."

Perhaps it was the tone of Slade's voice, or the way he conducted a ruthless training session that perturbed Dick. Slade's criticisms, while usually blunt, were unusually harsh today. Dick dismissed Slade's insults-disguised-as-critique. Why should he care what Slade thought? If he wanted to insult Dick today then Dick would ignore him like he always did.

The day proceeded normally, though as the day wore on Wintergreen's absence became more pronounced. It was noted in the silence that permeated the Haunt during his downtime, in the way the food was slightly burnt, and how much shorter Slade's temper was. Each clashing incident with Slade, no matter how small, contributed to Dick's increasing anxiety.

 _Maybe it's not so bad,_ Dick thought as he lay in bed that night, staring at the dark ceiling. _I didn't even think that someone like Wintergreen would be around when I agreed to be Slade's apprentice._

And yet as he lay there, thinking of the past four years, he never once realized how much Wintergreen had kept him sane. Every little thing he did, even if it was something as simple as handing him a jacket. Sometimes Dick felt so distracted, so caught up in his own self-loathing that he didn't pay attention to the little things that, when added up, pissed Slade off.

_It's my fault he left._

Dick rolled onto his side and stared at the blank wall. There were a thousand reasons why Wintergreen wouldn't be here, and it was arrogant to think that he was the reason why Wintergreen would leave. Wintergreen probably had family. Maybe it was his designated vacation time. Whatever the reason, Dick had to keep telling himself that none of this was his fault. Wintergreen had the ability to make his own decisions, and they were not Dick's business.

Wintergreen did not appear the next morning, or for the rest of the day. While Dick silently mourned Wintergreen's absence, he knew that there was nothing he could say or do. He could only endure.

When Wintergreen did reappear, it was unannounced. After his last training session in the second day of Wintergreen's absence, Dick watched one of the Sladebots take a suitcase down the hall towards the forbidden hallways, where Slade and Wintergreen's quarters were. Dick was supposed to be going to his room while Slade worked, but the scurrying robots had distracted him. He stopped walking to stare at Wintergreen, who was speaking with Slade in the foyer.

The two men spoke in soft voices near the entrance to the Haunt. They stopped speaking when Dick approached, as though afraid that he would overhear. Slade glanced at Dick before turning on his heel to leave the room.

"You're back," Dick said.

Wintergreen didn't look at him. "I had business out of town."

"And you didn't think to warn me?"

"Why should it matter to you?"

"Because I don't want to be left alone with him." Dick was hardly aware that he was shaking.

"It won't happen again. I promise."

"And how much is your promise worth?"

The lies were easy enough to see through. Were they even making an effort to lie? Wintergreen had left without any warning, and Slade took his anger out on Dick.

"I'm surprised you even noticed," Wintergreen said casually. "Next time I'll warn you. I promise."

The older man sounded as if he had been on the verge of apologizing, but could not bring himself to do it. He could only half-heartedly promise that he would not do it again. Dick hadn't even known that he missed Wintergreen's presence until the older man had gone. Where, Dick would never know, and he did not care to know. All he cared about was the fact that Wintergreen had left without any warning. And he knew that if he were to survive this apprenticeship, Dick would have to do everything in his power to keep Wintergreen on his side.

"If there even is a next time, Wintergreen," Dick mumbled.

"You don't have to call me that," Wintergreen replied. "You can call me Will, if you want. That's what my friends call me."

"Whatever."

Dick watched Wintergreen leave the room, which he supposed was for the better. Both of them seemed too uncomfortable to keep the conversation going. Time, time, time. Wintergreen had been gone for forty-eight hours, and he didn't think Dick would notice?

* * *

 

Rain splattered against the high sky window in the ceiling in the main room. It was the only place that got any kind of natural light, and one of the few reasons why Dick preferred this room above all others in the Haunt. While he hated the enormous television screens, Slade had not shown the Titans' bloodstreams in a long while. Maybe he had hoped that, with time, Dick would forget. Dick never forgot; he just buried things deep within himself. It was the only way he had survived these five long years.

Dick looked up at the sky window, mesmerized by the raindrops racing down the glass. Vaguely he wished that he could go outside and play in the rain like a child, perhaps play mud football with the Titans like he used to, but they were fleeting thoughts. If he could, he would just sit here and watch the rain until it stopped.

He turned his gaze away from the ceiling to look at Slade, who was working quietly in his corner. While Slade was doing—whatever it was he did—Dick was responsible for coming up with an attack plan based on the blueprints Slade had given him.

Instead of coming up with a battle plan, Dick doodled. Nothing in particular, just endless loops that kept him busy. He wondered when Slade would notice, and wondered what Slade would say when he did. If this was any other day, he would have done what Slade had asked him to do. Instead Dick reflected, as he was prone to do during these periods of uneasy quiet.

Slade may be precise, clinical in his analysis, but there was so much he missed in everything he did.

Was there something Dick had hoped for? A magical time when Slade stopped treating him like a piece of crap and started treating him like another human being? He gripped his pen tightly, trying to convince himself to keep his big mouth shut. But what good would it do to stay quiet? Things would never get better if he didn't speak up.

 _He'll hurt me,_ Dick thought.

But Dick could hurt him back.

Sitting there, so engrossed in his paperwork, Slade seemed so vulnerable. He either trusted Dick enough not to hurt him, or he felt so assured of his dominance that he didn't even consider Dick a threat.

"Slade," Dick said, "Sir. I'm so tired that I can't think straight. If I didn't have to get up every day, then I wouldn't."

"What?" Slade looked up from his work. "Are you stuck?"

Dick dropped his pen down and crossed his arms over his chest. "You are an incredible piece of shit, you know that?" Dick looked at Slade, who, incredibly, looked away from Dick. "I have a problem, and I'm trying to tell you that I do. I want you to help me."

Slade looked back at him incredulously. Confused, almost.

"Did you hear me?" Dick raised his voice. "I'm asking you for help."

Why did Dick even think that Slade would help him? Unless it was a physical injury, then Slade never paid attention to him.

But it wasn't as if Dick had expected Slade to give him anything other than crap. He had hoped that Slade would be a decent teacher, of course, but Dick had come into this apprenticeship with already low expectations.

"Help you? With what?"

"I want to be happy, but I'm not." Dick voice's started cracking. "And I don't think you are either."

Slade happy? Why would even Dick wish that upon him?

Happy Slade was a good kind of Slade. A Slade who wasn't pissed off was a better Slade to be around. A happy Slade was more likely to grant him privileges on a whim, dismiss Dick's occasional insults, and be a better person overall.

For a long time Dick had thought of Slade as the villain. As time went on Dick thought more and more about this bizarre situation. What could Slade possibly gain from this? From what Dick understood, Slade wasn't the kind of person who would take something—or someone—without any kind of motive.

And yet Slade expressed genuine frustration whenever Dick failed to understand a concept. Maybe that was what Slade was aiming for: the task of teaching something to someone. Maybe Dick hadn't given Slade that much credit because he didn't believe that it was possible. Slade couldn't possibly want to teach anymore and had used it as an excuse to torment him. Of course, time changed things. Time always changes things.

"What started this?" Slade asked, getting up from his seat. "Finish your project and then we'll talk about this."

"You don't notice anything," Dick spat. "You claim to be so observant, but you ignore what's in front of you. You only focus on details that will bring you money, details that you can analyze without a personal connection."

He didn't know how he was saying these things so precisely. Dick only had a vague notion that he sounded clinical. Perhaps it was a habit he had picked up from Slade. Maybe it was something he had picked up from Bruce. At this point he didn't which habits he had picked up from either of them. At this point, it didn't really matter.

"You think you can read me, boy?" Slade breathed.

"I think I've lived with you long enough to read you."

"And why do you think so?"

"Because I'm always looking for your weakness."

Dick always looked to the side after he said something confrontational to Slade. He always flinched ever so slightly when Slade got up close and personal, always crinkled his nose when he smelled Slade's personal stench.

"I'm sure you've learned to read me well enough," Dick said. "There's no point lying to each other anymore. You ignore everyone and everything you have a personal connection to because you don't know how to connect. You are _terrible_ at making friends, and you can't make anyone like you to save your life."

Well, maybe that wasn't exactly true. Slade had friends, people he trusted, or so he had told Dick a thousand times. A familiar sense of Déjà vu washed over him. They had had this fight before, even if the words were slightly different. A cycle was all this was, a cycle he could not escape, not without death.

"Dick," Slade said, "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" He was aware that he sounded like a petulant child.

"Don't start now." Slade turned away. "I don't have time for arguments, and you don't either."

"Do you even have the ability to build a chronoton detonator? Or was that another lie as well?"

Slade spun around. "Instead of killing the Titans I could lock them in time. I don't sell myself short, Dick, and even empty threats are still threats. I don't make threats I can't follow through. You still have yet to learn that. You want my psychoanalysis of _you_?" For the first time in minutes Dick flinched slightly as Slade got up in his face. "I see a little shit who can't keep his mouth shut. I see a disrespectful little brat who picks fights for no reason. I've heard you cry and seen you mope. To be honest, I see someone who can't deal with his depression. Maybe you are weak."

Dick brought his arm back and swung at Slade. He didn't even think about it. There was no need to think, only act. His fist grazed Slade's shoulder, though he moved quickly to avoid Slade's counterattack.

"You're an asshole," Dick said.

"So are you."

There was something different about this fight. Neither of them had ever insulted the other so boldly. Slade was fond of underhanded insults, of words and phrases meant to tumble around in his mind until he believed it. This just proved that Slade was, at that moment, truly pissed off.

Slade rounded on him, but Dick was ready. He caught Slade's fist, hooked his foot around the back of Slade's knee, and shoved him to the floor. Slade's eye widened. Perhaps he was embarrassed that he had been caught off guard so easily.

"I'm not weak," Dick growled. "I may cry, I may be depressed as shit, but don't you believe for one second that I am weak. You trained me to kill and hurt people, so that's what I'll do to people who hurt me, even if I feel like shit. Don't you forget that you've created a monster."

Something strange washed over Slade, and as the seconds passed Dick realized that comprehension was dawning on Slade's face. Dick was reminded of how Slade had forced him to kill someone, and how Dick had briefly considered slitting Slade's throat. He raised his fist again. If he couldn't talk reasonably with Slade, then he had no other choice but to pummel the lesson into him.

In his anger Dick barely noticed Wintergreen rushing into the room. Dick only saw red as he thought, in that moment, that he could murder Slade. He could end it all right now and be done torturing himself. It did not take much to kill a man with his bare hands.

"Stop it!" Wintergreen caught Dick's wrist. He looked at Slade imploringly, as though embarrassed at his behavior. "This is getting nowhere."

A sense of simmering anger always seemed to pervade Wintergreen's behavior. Dick hadn't quite found the right words to describe him. He hadn't noticed Wintergreen's anger until a year or so into the apprenticeship, when he had buried his own feelings down enough to start noticing the feelings of others. An irritation with Slade that Dick had never noticed because he was too busy wallowing in his own self-guilt. Wintergreen pulled Dick away from Slade as gently as he could, as though he was afraid of Dick. Slade got up and rubbed the new bruise on his face absently.

Wintergreen relaxed just a bit, and in those few seconds Slade managed to knock Dick down with a punch to the gut. The floor bruised his back and threatened to crack his skull into pieces. He should always try to pick a fight when the floor was covered with the training mat. Slade loomed over him, pinning one of Dick's arms to the floor with one hand and forming a fist with the other.

"You don't do that to me," Slade snarled. "Not ever."

"Slade!"

Wintergreen grabbed Slade's wrist and pulled him off Dick. "You can't hit him anymore," Wintergreen said. "You can't do this anymore."

"I will do as I please!"

"You agreed to take on this boy as your apprentice!" Wintergreen snapped. "If you can't handle that responsibility, then you should just let him go."

Dick looked at Slade, not daring to speak, and wondered what he would say. This time Dick hadn't said a word. Wintergreen had.

"You're in no position to tell me what to do."

To Dick's utter surprise (and ensuing disbelief), Wintergreen punched Slade across the face. Dick reached out, as though he meant to protect Wintergreen, but he didn't know where to begin. Wintergreen was the only person who protected Dick. The only person who felt sorry for him and did something about it. He was the only person who seemed to care about Dick at all, and if Wintergreen ever went away again Dick didn't know what he would do.

"Will—" Dick began.

"You don't call him that, boy," Slade snapped.

"You don't speak for me, Slade."

Dick pushed himself up from the floor, ignoring the new bruise in his back.

"I didn't say you could leave."

Slade's voice was low and deadly. So much scarier than when he yelled. One of Wintergreen's hands reached out for Slade, as though he planned to hold him back, but then he changed his mind and extended a hand to Dick.

"Oh shut up, Slade." Dick waved one of Wintergreen's helping hands away. "If I really wanted to leave, then I would."

Dick looked at Slade right in the face. They both knew that this time would come, a time when Slade would no longer be able to physically control Dick. If it wasn't now, then it would be soon. Catching Slade off his guard was a rare thing, something that Slade would not easily forget.

"A long time ago you said I could leave whenever I wanted to, at the cost of the Titans' lives," Dick said. "Is that still true? Or will you just find another excuse to keep me locked up here?"

"Slade, Dick," Wintergreen said warningly. "Stop now. I insist."

"This is your last warning, Will."

Wintergreen shot Slade a strange look, as though he was trying to tell Slade to stop acting like a child. Dick was certain that they were going to argue loudly later. At this point they didn't even try to hide their arguments from Dick anymore.

"Whatever, dude," Dick said, waving a hand. "I'm leaving so mommy and daddy can argue."

Slade grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. "You probably think you're funny, don't you?"

Dick didn't look at Slade. "Just trying to diffuse the tension."

Everything was so serious with him. And even when Slade was in a more lighthearted mood their humor just didn't match.

"I don't even care what you say. Call me whatever you want, short of vulgarity, but when you use that tone with me, then we're going to have problems."

"So hit me."

If Slade did it, then he would have let Dick goad him. He was better than that, though he often forgot it in his anger. Slade let go of him, as though he remembered how Dick had knocked him down mere minutes before.

"Five years and you still haven't learned gratitude…or respect."

"Neither of those things were part of the deal."

"Then what was?"

"I said that I would work for you to keep my friends safe. In that respect you've kept your part of the bargain. I never said that I would be happy doing it. I never said that I wouldn't scheme behind your back. So don't be surprised that things haven't worked out the way you planned."

Dick could escape. He could run away at the cost of his friends' lives. No one should ever have to make that choice, and yet the more he stayed here the more he realized how alone he felt. When his parents died he was almost put into foster care. He would have been if Bruce had not taken him in as his ward. But now, he was not even worthy enough to be adopted. Only a ward, and nothing else. Even now, with Slade, he was nothing but an apprentice. Never a true son to Bruce, and he would never again have a true father. Not even when Slade asked, in his subtle way, to be his.

Twenty years old and this was still his reality. Dick was not exactly content, but used to the bullshit. Hardly anything surprised him anymore, and even when it did he never let himself show it.

"This conversation is over," Slade said.

"It's never going to be over. You know that, so you might as well give in to some of my demands."

"We'll see about that."

Might as well let himself get arrested. At least then he would be anywhere else but here. So many times he had wanted to run away. He had tried a couple of times just because he needed to get out. Sad days, sad days.

Promised privileges had yet to come. There were some liberties he had obtained simply because he had stuck around for a few years. Freedom to go out on his own business without a chaperone. Sometimes.

"I've read enough about my symptoms to know what I am suffering from," Dick said flatly. "But I'm no expert. I've tried to tell you over and over again how unhappy I am, but you keep ignoring me. We end up fighting because you're too stubborn to acknowledge my real problems. Is that really how you want to work with me?"

"Get out."

No matter what Dick said or did, there was nothing he could do now. A broken promise was still a promise, however, and Slade would not push the trigger to retaliate.

Slade was a pretty lonely person, and he knew it. But in the process of trying to gain friends, he had made Dick just as lonely. Perhaps, someday, they would be able to find a way to work together without fighting. If he could stop time, just for a moment, he could, perhaps, find an answer.


	20. Lord of Gotham

Part 3: Legacy

* * *

 

_"And who, are you, the proud lord said_

_That I must bow so low?_

_Only a cat of a different coat_

_That's all the truth I know._

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_

_A lion still has claws._

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord_

_As long and sharp as yours._

_And so he spoke, and so he spoke,_

_The Lord of Castamere._

_But now the rain weeps o'er his halls_

_With no one there to hear._

_Yes now the rains weeps o'er his halls,_

_And not a soul to hear."_

-"The Rains of Castamere," George R.R Martin. A Song of Ice and Fire

* * *

 

Tim skidded across the rooftop. If he had landed just a few feet to the left, he would have broken his neck He struggled to his elbows and tried to ignore the scrapes on his arms and back. If he didn't get up and ignore the pain, then he would die.

Stephanie had landed on her feet after Bane had pushed her aside to get to Tim. There were several tears in her purple cape and bruises all over her face, but she didn't seem fazed at all.

"Where's Batman?!" Bane demanded.

 _Bane is toying with us,_ Tim thought. Bane could have killed them minutes ago, but he hadn't yet. It was easy to assume that Bane won everything by brute force, but his strength was just one trait. Bane was smart, and right now all Tim had going for him were his brains. Anticipating Bane's movements was, however, more difficult than Tim had thought. If he followed his hunch, Tim suspected that Bane already knew that Dick was Batman, and was stalling until Dick arrived.

What if Dick didn't get through Arkham? What if, after all this time, he had failed and everyone was left to die? Tim didn't have time to think about it.

"I don't know," Tim snapped back.

"Why?" Stephanie piped up. "You don't think you can handle us?"

Tim shot Stephanie a pained look. He didn't want Stephanie to fight Bane. It wasn't because he thought that she couldn't defend herself—because she could—but Bane was dangerous to everyone. Bruce was one of the strongest men that Tim had ever known.

Tim winced and wiped away the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Most of his injuries came from Bane throwing him around like a rag doll. Bane crossed his arms over his chest.

"I have no real desire to kill you, but you have annoyed me enough."

_Don't fight him unless you have to._

"I should have killed that brat Grayson when I had the chance," Bane said.

Could Tim even escape Bane now? So long as the Bat kids had their utility belts they would be able to—

As Tim ducked one of Bane's swinging fists, he tripped Bane grabbed his arm and ripped the utility belt off of his waist. "You're like your mentor, boy." Bane crushed the utility belt in his overlarge hand. "Too reliant on your gadgets."

"Crud," Tim muttered.

Bane smacked him across the face. Tim rolled across the rooftop yet again, and wondered why he could not defend himself. He had been so certain just a few hours that he could do something about the situation.

Before Tim could lunge at Bane, Stephanie grabbed his cape and pulled him back. "Come on, Boy Blunder," Stephanie said. "Let's get out of here."

"No." Tim tried to squirm out of Stephanie's grip. "I can't leave this unfinished—"

"Yes, you can."

Stephanie took out her hookshot and ran towards the edge of the rooftop, forcing Tim to follow her by the collar of his uniform. They couldn't outrun Bane. Not forever.

"We need to wait until Dick comes to help us," Stephanie said.

She sounded unsure, like she didn't believe her own words. Maybe she had realized that two teenagers could not defeat Bane. That didn't sound like the Stephanie Tim knew. She was usually optimistic. But now all they could do was run, and all the while Tim wondered if Dick had abandoned them for a purpose.

* * *

 

The Titans felt confused, or at least that was how Starfire felt.

The others had not asked how she felt about all this concerning Dick. Whenever she thought about him the fury of a thousand starbolts boiled within her. But she had learned to contain her anger, just as she had when she and Raven switched bodies, and now with the maturity of adulthood she was not prone to outbursts. Most of the time.

Starfire had only spoken with Dick for a few minutes, and she was not sure if she could bear anymore. From what Raven told her, the boys did not treat him with the respect and sensitivity that he deserved after five years of captivity. They had not respected his sacrifice, and had called him the problem. Starfire knew that the others had not meant to portray themselves in that fashion, but they had anyway. She understood what Cyborg had been trying to do, and respected that, but they had been terribly insensitive. Even Raven understood that, even though she had said nothing.

And yet, she was the only Titan who had approved of his killing Slade. If Slade was still alive, Starfire would have killed him herself. If she had had the opportunity to kill Slade without harming Dick or the other Titans, then she would have done it. Dick had taken control of the situation, at least for that moment.

So why should they be surprised that he went off to do something rash?

The former Titans entered Slade's Haunt. As far as Starfire knew, she had never been in here. Not like she had had the opportunity to be here. The team had never figured out where Slade's headquarters were. Every time they came close to finding it Slade threatened to hurt Dick, or hurt them. This time Dick had called Beast Boy, given him the coordinates and password to enter the Haunt.

Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust and looked recently abandoned. They walked through the empty hallways, all the while wondering why they had never found this place.

We could stop Dick from doing any of this, Starfire thought.

But would that help anyone?

They entered the main room, which Starfire remembered the room from the various videos Slade had sent the Titans.

"We shouldn't be here," Raven said. "It's full of negative energy."

There was nothing more she wanted to do than destroy the place, but Dick had asked them not to. Even Starfire could sense that Dick wanted to burn the place to the ground, but he would not if he had no reason to. There was something else he needed to do, and he would not destroy the Haunt until he finished his business.

Cyborg approached a door. "This is it."

A horde of Sladebots faced them. Starbolts unconsciously appeared in Star's hand, though the Sladebots did not move.

Starfire picked up one of the controllers sitting on a nearby table. She was not familiar with Slade's technology, but she knew enough to know that it was the object Dick had requested the Titans have in their possession.

"Why does he want the things?" Beast Boy asked. "Remember that one time Dick went berserk and fricking destroyed all the Sladebots?"

"Perhaps he does have a plan," Starfire said quietly, studying the Sladebots closely.

Many people assumed that Starfire did not know anything about tactics, but she had learned a great deal over the years. She may not know Dick as well as she used to, but she had known him well enough as a teenager to understand how he had changed.

Dick believed himself at war, and so he acted as if he were. And to play at war he needed soldiers to fight his battles while he went off to take out the king and queen. If she were to compare this whole affair to chess, an Earth board game she played with Raven, then Starfire knew that if the Sladebots were the pawns, then the Titans were certainly the more valuable players.

* * *

 

Joseph and Adeline had their own problems to deal with, now that Jackal was back in town. Jackal sat before them, tied to a chair, dazed and confused from the blow to the head.

Joey knew that his mother had an obligation to arrest Jackal, or at least bring him to the correct authorities. He remembered the man all too well, but hating him would do nothing but affect his judgment.

"So, you hired Bane to kill Slade," Adeline said. "Unnecessary since Grayson killed him. So what are you going to do now? Why are you here?"

"That boy is not supposed to be a threat," Jackal muttered. "He was supposed to disappear, he was supposed to destroy Slade's empire for me. But he isn't."

"Sorry he has a life outside your nefarious plan, Walsh."

"He was not supposed to protect you."

Adeline rested her hands on the armrests of the chair and leaned close to Walsh. "You forget yourself: do you honestly believe that I need protecting, or saving, after all I've been through? You won't ever win. If you ever try again, you'll lose something more than an eye."

Joey looked away when Jackal looked at him. This was not really Joey's business. To be honest, he couldn't wait until this was all over. Normally, when his mother was on a case for her intelligence company, she would get everything done quickly. But with Jackal, everything was personal. Joey suspected that his mother had hated the way she had acted last time Jackal confronted the family, because when Jackal had threatened Joey his mother had become a quivering mess. Though, Joey supposed, even the strongest people had their breaking point.

"It's over, Jackal," Adeline said. "Bane no longer works for you."

Joey's phone went off. Normally he did not think much of his cell phone alerts, but this was a particular alert. One that his mother had asked him to monitor for the sake of their family.

Joey's eyes widened. He tapped his mother on the shoulder, though it took her longer than usual to notice him.

 _"One of Slade's safe-houses has been unlocked,"_ he said.

"What?"

Distracted, Adeline snatched the smartphone away from him. He was right: one of the few safe-houses that Adeline monitored was occupied.

"That's impossible," Adeline said. "Unless…"

She looked once at Jackal again. What could this mean? If Slade was dead, then there were only three possible people who could open that warehouse: Dick, as Slade's heir, Wintergreen or Adeline herself. Unless Dick had business in that safe-house, which he should not, then why would Wintergreen be there?

This was curious enough to investigate herself. Joey could see the determination in his mother's eyes, and his apprehension grew.

* * *

 

Before Dick approached the warehouse he took off the Batman's cowl, breast plate and cape. The armor meant to protect him felt suffocating, and it would be no use where he was going.

This was one of Slade's many safe-houses. Dick remembered staying here once, for a single night for a contract in Gotham. There had been many contracts, and many safe-houses on the east coast, but Dick remembered that place because of how near it had been to Gotham. How, when he had asked Slade for a few hours of time to visit his parents' graves, Slade had allowed it.

As Dick walked through the neighborhood he remembered how he had walked through here alone, trying to find his way through an unknown neighborhood. He remembered how astonished he had felt, and how he almost started crying because of this unexpected kindness.

_Assassins don't cry._

That's what Slade had said. But Slade was dead, and he didn't matter anymore. And because Slade was dead, Dick had some unpleasant obligations to fulfill.

Dick typed in the password in the number pad. He was not sure if he would be allowed in, but it seemed as though Wintergreen had done nothing to prevent Dick from entering any of the safe-houses. The door slid open and he went inside.

It was a warehouse. Nothing too special, just a place where Slade stored things when he needed a place to stay while doing contracts on the east coast. To Dick's great surprise, there were men crawling all over the place. Carrying boxes, monitoring the various machines against the wall, the whole shebang. Why were they here? Didn't the Sladebots usually do this kind of work?

"What's wrong?" One of them demanded. "Is something wrong? Where's Slade?"

"Slade's dead," Dick said flatly.

"Slade's dead?"

They seemed confused. Apparently no one had yet told them that he had killed Slade. Still, they had recognized him. Dick would have been disappointed if they hadn't. Although, Dick was confused as to why they would be running around without Slade being there.

"If Slade is dead, you know what that makes me?" Dick asked.

"What does that make you, Sir?" the man replied.

"The new Deathstroke."

The men glanced at one another. None of the men, who were much older than Dick, looked down at him for his youth. They knew what Dick had done as Slade's apprentice, and they respected that, despite Dick's age. Or maybe because their payroll was fat enough for them to not care who was giving the orders.

"I'm sorry to hear that Slade is dead," the man said. "We are sorry for your loss."

Dick forced himself not to laugh. "He had it coming for a long while. He got himself killed on a contract. That's probably how he wanted to go." Would they leave if Dick admitted that he had killed Slade? Did he even want them around? Dick didn't know. "Why are you here?"

"We expected you, Sir," the first man replied. "We were told that you would come to Gotham after your business in Belgium."

Gotham? Why would Slade have taken Dick to Gotham after their last contract? He had promised Dick that they would go back to Jump City.

"Slade told you?"

"Yes, Sir, before you left Jump City two weeks ago."

"Why did Slade hire you?"

"Why, to clean up the place for you, of course."

"I see." Dick mused. "How long have you been here?"

"For a couple of days, Sir."

For some reason it was difficult to remember when he had killed Slade. The days seemed to blend together. Had it been a week , three, or seven? Whatever. It didn't matter.

"I see. Your work here is done. I'll make sure you're all paid if you leave."

"Thank you, Sir," the second man said. The three men nearest him bowed their heads in acknowledgement.

Dick walked through the warehouse, trying to remember where everything was without looking like an idiot in front of the hired grunts. He felt terribly confused, but he couldn't look confused in front of either of them. It would destroy his image, and Dick would rather have a bunch of criminals respect and fear him.

It was not a large warehouse, not as large as the Haunt, but it was large enough to confuse him. However, Dick was running low on time, so he found the room he was looking for quickly. He typed in another password, and the double doors opened.

Even though the Sladebots looked almost all the same, Dick could tell that they were his design. Once Slade had realized that Dick was good at their maintenance he asked Dick to create a Sladebot from the original blueprints, and to make any modifications he liked so long as Slade approved of them beforehand. Dick had rebuilt several of the Sladebots after they had been destroyed on Slade's missions, and Slade had stored some of them here. Why here? Why these Sladebots near Gotham? Dick shuddered to think about what plans Slade may have had in store for him.

 _He may have wanted me to leave Jump City,_ Dick thought. _He could have asked me to have a post here in Gotham as his auxiliary agent._

Whatever Slade's plan for him had been, it didn't matter now that he was dead. He had left Dick everything, and Dick didn't have time to destroy it all. If he had been left Slade's things, then there was no stopping him from using them for the greater good.

Dick opened a metal box attached to the wall near the door. Inside was a curious metal device meant to go around his hand, with a thin wire that ran all the way up to his ear so he could speak commands. Funny, how Slade could design and build something so sophisticated and yet fail to understand the latest smart phone. It was part of the Slade costume, the transmitter to the Sladebots. How else would he be able to control them?

His Titans communicator buzzed.

"We have the requested device," Starfire said. "What do you wish us to do?"

"I need you to push the small red button," Dick said. "It will wake them up."

He heard one of the other Titans mutter something through the communicator. Sounded like Beast Boy said something smart. After a few seconds the Sladebots' eyes glowed red. Ah. So, the universal remote did work. Dick screwed the other communicator into his ear and attached the wire to his arm.

"Bots," Dick said, raising his voice. "Wake up."

In unison the Sladebots woke up.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, and the Sladebots moved. Dick had practiced controlling the robots from a distance with Slade, but he had never used them during any sort of mission. Slade had trusted him, but he would never trust Dick completely commanding his army of Sladebots. Even now, he knew that he would have trouble controlling them while in action. His mind would have to be in two places at once. Despite himself, Dick smiled.

There were villains running all over Gotham. No one would think any differently of them, and no one would expect the Sladebots to help anyone. He felt guilty that he got up and left everyone, but he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't work with any of them, even though he wanted to. Bruce's micro-managing irked him. Dick was the only one who was going to do any micro-managing around here.

Defeating Bane as Batman would be something that Bane would expect. If he were going to defeat Bane and save Gotham, then Dick would have to do the unexpected.

"You," Dick said, pointing to a group of three Sladebots, "patrol the area around Arkham and contain anyone who attempts to leave. Assist Catwoman in any way possible." He pointed to the next group of Sladebots. "You five track down and capture any roaming Arkham inmates and bring them to the Gotham City Police Department. You two go to the back room and find…" Dick paused, wondering if he really wanted to do this, "the secret weapon. Be on standby."

The Sladebots nodded and dispersed. There was the biggest group left, a group of about ten Sladebots.

"You will accompany me," Dick said to the final group. "You will assist me against Bane. If it is clear that I will not succeed, escort Robin and Batgirl to the Titans East and leave me alone once I give the command."

He didn't know why he was talking to the Sladebots as if they were people. They didn't care. His inspirational speech would have been better suited to the Batkids, but he couldn't talk to them. Not when they knew what he had become.

And yet, seeing his commands followed through was an alien feeling. The Sladebots obeyed him without question. They did not question his judgment or complain. For the first time in a long time Dick felt real power and control.

If he could, he would have let the Sladebots take care of Bane, but that was not possible. No robot, no matter who was controlling it, was cunning or quick enough to defeat Bane. But having robots there to distract Bane would certainly alleviate the pressure and tip the fight to Dick's favor.

Well, no point wasting time musing. There was so much he had to do and so much time he was wasting already. He should have gone straight to Tim, but Dick felt uneasy. So uneasy that his stomach rolled and his arms trembled. His hands formed fists. Bane would expect Dick as Batman to face him. But he would not expect Dick to approach him with all of the tools of Deathstroke behind him.

In his determination, Dick had not noticed anyone following him. And yet, when the man behind him spoke, there was no mistaking that horribly familiar voice. "Hello, Dick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	21. Reunions

When Dick turned around he wished that he hadn't recognized the voice, and hoped that he had been mistaken. Yet there Slade was. Dick rubbed his eyes and wondered if Scarecrow's fear gas was still affecting him.

"You aren't real," Dick mumbled. "You can't be real…"

"I'm pretty certain I'm real."

Even in his growing panic, Dick could see how this wasn't an illusion. Slade looked different. He hadn't shaved in a few days, his hair was longer, and for once he looked exhausted. Like he had been through hell and back. Literally. Slade wasn't dressed in his Deathstroke uniform, but civilian clothing: a black shirt, jeans and a trench coat.

"I didn't think you would come here so soon," Slade said. "Sorry about the surprise."

Slade stepped forward hesitantly, his one-eyed gaze never breaking from Dick's.

Dick's chest tightened. "It's really you?"

"Yes."

Slade spoke quietly, as though afraid that he would spook Dick. There was absolutely nothing except nausea rolling in his stomach. Forgetting about the plan of action he had just launched, Dick turned and punched one of the Sladebots in the face.

"You were dead!" Dick spat. "I killed you!"

Images of Slade's lifeless body spun through Dick's mind. He had shot Slade, felt Slade's hot blood on his face. What had happened? Why wasn't Slade still dead?

"I was dead," Slade replied slowly, still walking towards him.

"What do you mean you were dead?" Dick demanded. "You didn't have any powers! You can't be alive!"

"You killed me, and then I came back to life."

"What did you do, take a dip in the Lazarus Pit?"

"How silly of you to think that, Dick." Slade got up close and personal. "Do you believe that I didn't notice the warning signs? How you were getting stronger every day? How you could best me? How willing you were to murder me, even when you refused to believe it?"

Everything was unfinished. Dick had thought that the apprenticeship would end in death, and yet Slade had returned from the grave.

"You can't be alive—"

"Can't I?" Slade loomed over him. "There's a lot you didn't know about me, Dick. Do you know why I left the army?"

"Because you're crazy."

"Because I volunteered to be a test subject. The serum they gave me provided me with regenerative abilities. If you are looking to kill me, shooting me in the head won't do much. Though I applaud the attempt."

The two of them circled one another warily, the Sladebots backing away to allow them room. Even if Dick had plotted to murder Slade, it wouldn't have worked because Slade could come back to life?

"The nanobots are done with," Dick snapped. "I got rid of them."

"So I noticed. But I don't need nanobots to control you."

For the first time in minutes Slade's voice carried a hint of familiar malice. Dick just looked at him, his body tensing for a fight.

What if this had been his final exam? What if Slade had wanted to see what Dick would do if he died? But that didn't make any sense! Slade couldn't have possibly foreseen that Dick would shoot him.

"I'm disappointed." Slade gestured at Dick's outfit. "Batman? I thought we had a deal, Dick: you're supposed to be Deathstroke."

"You were dead. Nothing could keep me from leaving you and that awful life behind." Dick looked at Slade. "And I refuse to be Deathstroke."

"And yet here you are: in the Gotham safe-house, commanding my men and my robots. I'd say you were just about ready to embrace the role for your own personal gain."

"I'm only doing what I have to do."

"You don't _have_ to do anything. You're supposed to be Deathstroke, and Deathstroke wouldn't do anything to help Batman." Slade shrugged. "If I were you, I wouldn't help him now. He never helped you before, and now he expects you to follow his orders. Your training isn't finished, Dick, and you have to complete it."

"Don't be a hypocrite," Dick spat. "You came back from the dead and you expect to pick up where were left off."

"Why shouldn't we?"

"Because I hate your guts, and I have to be Batman."

Slade shrugged. "We have a lot more history than you do with Wayne now. It doesn't make sense to be Batman now." Slade motioned for Dick to follow him. "Now come along. We've wasted enough time already."

Dick stood still. How could Slade—who had left this life for a mere two weeks—expect him to fall back into the old routine? Dick jabbed a finger at Slade.

"Get him, bots," Dick commanded.

The Sladebots didn't move.

"Will you look at that," Slade said. "They recognize both of us as their master. They can't attack us both because their programming forbids it. Don't you remember the Three Laws of Robotics?"

"I know. I programmed it into them."

"Very good. Unfortunately, I don't seem able to override their programming either." Slade chuckled. "If I were you I'd do the same thing: use the bots. How silly of you to think that you could turn my own creation against me."

Dick's cheeks burned. "You trusted me to maintain them."

"So I did."

"I was surprised you approved my changes, being the paranoid freak that you are."

"In this business it doesn't matter how many precautions you take. Even I knew that you would one day surpass me." Slade's face darkened. "But I won't allow it. Not today."

Both of them tensed, but neither of them moved to attack one another. What was Slade waiting for? After a few seconds, Dick couldn't help himself. "How are you alive?"

"Explaining the mechanics would take longer than you'd care to hear. And I expect that you do not have time for an explanation, if you wish to save Batgirl and Robin from Bane."

"If you're only here to annoy me, then get out of my way. I don't have time for you."

With a dramatic flourish of his cape, Dick turned and prepared to leave the room. It had been a long while since he had had a serious fight with Slade, and he did not intend to get into another one so soon. Especially not when the Arkham inmates were trashing Gotham and Bane was out for Batman's blood.

"Where do you think you're going, young man?"

Dick paused. Was Slade really going to do this _now?_

"I have more important things to deal with," Dick responded curtly. "There's nothing you can do to keep me imprisoned."

"We're not done here."

"Oh, I think we are."

No matter what Dick thought at the moment, he knew that he had to turn around and leave. He couldn't afford to fight Slade when there were other problems. Slade's face twisted with sudden rage, and he lunged at Dick with renewed fury.

"You're an investment," Slade spat. "I'm not going to waste five years."

In the split-second before Slade tackled him, Dick smashed the remote control to the Sladebots. If none of them would answer to him, then he wasn't going to let Slade have the chance to reclaim his army.

They rolled across the floor, each trying to strangle one another. Dick felt his fists connect with Slade's face, but nothing seemed to matter. Despite Dick's efforts to overtake Slade, he found himself yet again underneath him, with hands wrapped around his neck.

"I know how you fight, Dick," Slade growled. "You can't try any tricks with me."

For the second time that night a villain choked him. The fresh bruises from the Joker's hands flared up painfully again as he struggled to free himself, trying to free his hands just enough to push Slade off him.

"If you struggle I will knock you out," Slade snarled. "You don't want that now, do you?"

Dick stopped moving, even though every inch of his being told him to fight back. Why was Dick freezing up? Was he scared? Was he just so used to obeying Slade that it didn't matter if Slade had the nanobots? It had been so long since Slade had attacked him like this that Dick didn't know what to do.

"Let go, Slade," Dick gasped, trying to wrench Slade's hands away from his throat.

"Listen to me," Slade said, his voice low and deadly, "this charade is done. I gave you instructions and you chose to ignore them. You will face the consequences. Don't be a child."

Dick felt like a child again, unable to defend himself. He had been in this situation many times before, and each time he had to let Slade best him just so he wouldn't cough up blood.

But what did Slade hope to accomplish now? Wintergreen was already gone, unless that had been a facade as well. Had this all been a test? A final exam? If so, how could Slade have won a battle of wits against Jackal?

"H-how?" Dick demanded. "How…am…I a child when I killed you?"

In a way, Dick knew Slade better than anyone, maybe even more than Wintergreen. He knew the true Slade because of the way Slade had treated him. Dick understood him in the way he processed his anger, how he transformed his frustration into fistfights. Adeline Kane had the ability to leave him with her remaining child, and Dick was certain that Wintergreen had temporarily left Slade only to come back out of concern for Dick, so even Wintergreen's loyalty to Slade was tenuous at best. Everyone else in Slade's life had the ability to leave, while Dick had nothing. While some part of Dick wanted to forgive him, Dick knew that he couldn't.

"It was a good shot, I must admit that. It only took you one bullet to kill me, just like I taught you." Black spots appeared in Dick's vision as Slade's grip tightened again. "But it was nothing more than a lucky shot."

"Slade…please…" Dick grabbed at Slade's hands.

What was Slade going to do? Choke him until he passed out? And then what? He would wake up in another one of Slade's hidden safe-houses, and suffer for disobeying Slade's orders. Dick's vision blurred; he could barely breathe. His hands fell away from Slade's wrists and lay limp on the cold floor. He closed his eyes. Five long years as a criminal's apprentice, and yet he still wasn't strong enough to escape.

Slade's grip loosened, though he did not let go. He felt for Dick's pulse, and then got off him, turning Dick on his side. Something vile dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and he struggled to cough.

"Look at you," Slade muttered, more to himself than Dick. "You're not strong enough to beat anyone. Not in this state."

His friends' faces flashed through his mind. There was so much he had to do, so many things he had to say to them. All he had needed was a little bit of time to recover, and things would have gotten better. Everyone would have helped him, no matter what. Had he even hugged Starfire once since coming home? Or had he pushed her away again?

He felt Slade pulling his arms behind his back, as though he meant to restrain him. Dick opened his eyes. The Titans…they would be sad again. Bruce needed him. His friends needed him, and he needed them. He couldn't go back to Slade. Never.

_"No!"_

Dick pushed Slade's arm away and smashed a fist to Slade's face. As Slade recoiled from the attack Dick wrapped his hands around Slade's neck and used his weight to pin Slade to the floor. Slade struggled to breathe as Dick's hands crushed his throat. "I said no, Slade. You are no longer my master. You never have been."

"Let go, Dick," Slade gasped.

"Now you know how I felt," Dick said through gritted teeth. "When you beat me down."

"If it wasn't for Frannie I wouldn't be alive," Slade said. "I thought you'd be happy that you haven't killed someone else. Or maybe I'm wrong, and I've finally turned you into a murderous little shit?"

"The only person I have left to murder is you."

Dick did it once before, and he could do it again. "What are you gonna do now, Slade? Hit me again? I've had enough of that. You can't control me anymore."

Dick slammed his head against Slade's. Slade hit his head on the floor and cursed, a small trickle of blood flowing from his nose. Dick jumped up and raced towards the door. He remembered where the weapons cache was, and found it quickly. If he didn't, then he'd lose valuable seconds. As he ran through the warehouse he noticed that everyone else had already vacated the building. He nearly crashed into the wall as he fumbled for the number pad, blood pounding loudly in his ears. Dick typed in the code, and the cache opened. It didn't matter which gun he grabbed, so long as it was loaded.

"Dick! What are you doing?" Slade rounded the corner. "I just want to talk—"

"Oh, you say that after you attack me?"

He turned and pointed the gun at Slade. Before he could stop himself he fired at Slade, and this time he did not care if he hit the sleezeball again.

* * *

 

Bruce was running on pure adrenaline as he switched computer screens, trying to a good sense of what was happening all over Gotham.

"Tim and Stephanie have engaged Bane," Barbara said. "I have security footage on screen three."

The security footage was grainy, but it was enough to see Batgirl and Robin fighting Bane.

"Tim!" Bruce touched the communicator. "What's going on?"

"Well, I'd like to know that myself!" Tim replied, huffing with exertion. "Bane isn't too happy, and Batman hasn't showed up yet. I tried calling, but he isn't picking up."

"What the hell is Dick doing?"

It wasn't like Dick to just disappear, especially during an emergency. Fear stabbed through Bruce. What if Dick hadn't made it outside of Arkham? No, that couldn't be it. Catwoman was there with him. She would tell Bruce if anything had happened to Dick. Right?

"Things are a little dicey!" Stephanie exclaimed. "Right now we're distracting him, but we can't do much until Batman gets here. Whenever that happens."

"Keep Bane occupied," Bruce said, "but avoid direct confrontation if you can. I'll work on getting Dick back in line."

Stephanie shrieked as she disconnected.

"Robots are crawling all over Arkham!" Barbara exclaimed.

Bruce immediately switched to the Arkham security cameras.

"What are those robots doing there?" Bruce demanded. "Those are Sladebots. Everything is supposed to be deactivated. Unless…" Bruce took out his communicator and called Titans Tower. "Titans!"

They answered immediately, as though they had been waiting for him to call. All four of the original Titans were waiting on the other line.

"Why didn't you tell me Dick planned to activate Slade's robots?"

"We know, Mr. Wayne," Cyborg said. "Dick asked us to activate the Sladebots for him, but he asked us just before he decided to do it."

"What?"

Didn't Dick spend the twenty-four hours after he shot Slade shutting down his criminal empire? Why would he turn around and reactivate the Sladebots?

"Bruce—" Barbara began.

_"What?"_

"Calm down, Grumpy. If Dick has complete control of the Sladebots, then that will work to our advantage. We're low on numbers, and we can use any help we can get."

But help from the Sladebots? Would that even be worth it? Batman didn't use robots in his fight against injustice.

Is Dick really trying to be Batman?

Bruce did tell Dick that he could solve this however he wanted to. Bruce never forbade him from using all of the technology Slade had at his disposal.

"Mr. Wayne," Cyborg said, "I know you won't like to hear this, but we have to come over there. We have to be in Gotham not only for Dick, but for you."

"What are you trying to say?"

"You can't protect yourself. If Bane manages to break into Wayne Manor—"

"No! You will protect Dick and Time and Stephanie!" Bruce spat into the communicator. "No one will protect me! Not when I'm Bane's target!"

"We're sorry, Mr. Wayne," Raven cut-in. "But this isn't about what you want. It's about what needs to happen. You can't protect anyone the way you are now. Even with your help, we've had to survive on our own. We had to deal with the nanobots, and eventually we had to get rid of them ourselves. We need to help Dick, and we're already on our way."

A flash of green light filled the screen as Starfire flew off, and the Titans disconnected. They were all the way across the country! Could they get here in time? Bruce didn't think so, unless they utilized another Titan's warping abilities.

All the same, he appreciated the effort.

* * *

 

Adeline and Joey sat outside of Slade's safehouse in her car, though Joey had not yet turned off the engine.

"He can't be alive," Adeline muttered. "He can't be alive, there's no way…"

What would Adeline even say to Slade now? After hardly talking to him for so many years, there was nothing to say to him now.

 _But he's dead,_ Adeline thought savagely. _Grayson killed him._

Yet were Grayson's words reliable? He could be convinced that he had killed Slade, but did it happen? Could Grayson have fled the scene before he confirmed that Slade was dead? Did he even check for vital signs? Did he have time?

Trusting that poor boy was so easy. Even knowing that Slade had manipulated him for years, Adeline believed that Grayson had been sincere. In his fear, his unexpected grief, he believed that he had killed his captor.

"Even if Dad survived he couldn't have recovered in such a short amount of time," Joey said.

"Just a few days after I shot his eye out he was walking around without a care in the world," Adeline replied. "Grayson didn't know where he had shot him. He was too hysterical to find out. Slade probably played dead while everyone else flipped out."

Damn it. Adeline thought that this was done and over with, but now she needed to make sure. She had been too quick to believe Grayson. She should have seen Slade's corpse herself and buried him one more time just to be sure.

Joey sat back in his seat and grimaced. After hearing the news that his father was dead, he had cried. She had no idea how to feel about that.

After an eternity, she unbuckled her seat belt and walked outside. Who would be waiting inside for her?

Joey knocked her to the ground. A wave of heat barreled over them. One of the nearby parked cars had exploded, sending debris flying over them. Adeline dug a hand into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, dialing Grayson's communicator. It rang several times without any answer.

"Answer me, Grayson!" Adeline snarled.

If Grayson had gone into the warehouse to destroy it, then he should have told her. But though she wanted to believe that Grayson was cleaning up after Slade, she knew that it wasn't the case.

Men in black clothing raced outside and scattered, ignoring Joey and Adeline completely. Gunshots peppered the air, though it took Adeline a few seconds to realize that they were coming from inside the warehouse.

Another loud bang blasted through the air. She twisted around and saw the Batmobile near her, its defensive mechanisms up to protect itself from the fiery debris.

_He's Batman? Unbelievable._

But if Grayson was here as Batman, then someone knew about it. That car bomb was for the Batmobile, not for Adeline and Joey. Adeline rolled to her feet and ran towards the source of the gunshots.

Joey grabbed her shoulder, signing frantically to get her attention. _"We can't go in there right now they're in the middle of a shootout—"_

"One of them will end up dead again, even if they don't mean to kill each other."

The shooting stopped abruptly.

 _"Why are we even here?"_ Joey asked. _"To help Grayson?"_

"You have the power to take your father down," Adeline said. "This city is already sprawling into a giant mess, and no one needs Slade screwing everyone over."

"Let's wait," Joey said.

"Fine."

They both looked at the building, and Adeline wondered if Slade had anymore traps waiting for them.

* * *

 

Dick fired right at Slade's face. Not just once, but several times, just for spite. Slade's lightning-fast reflexes saved him as he swerved around the bullets. Why hadn't they saved him before, when Dick had killed him the first time?

Dawning comprehension fluttered over Slade's face. Did he really believe that Dick hadn't killed him? That Dick had been capable of murdering him? Slade ducked behind a wall as Dick finished off the round.

"All right," Slade said, holding up his hands. "I don't have a weapon. I didn't come here to kill you, Dick."

"But you came here to convince me to join you again."

"I thought you respected me."

"Boy, were you wrong."

A muffled explosion sounded in the distance, and Dick's grip on the gun tightened when he realized where the sound was coming from. He looked at Slade incredulously. "Did you try to bomb the Batmobile?"

"Hey, it's not your car."

"You're freaking incredible." Dick grimaced. "Why are you here, Slade? Aside from convincing me to join you again?"

"Well, by killing me you proved my point," Slade said, brushing dust off his sleeve. "You can raise up and defeat your opponent, even if you have to kill them."

"Did you expect me to kill you? Did you want me to kill you?"

"Not at all." Slade gazed at him steadily. "I wanted you to respect me. I want you to see me as a teacher, not an oppressor. I tried, Dick. I tried so hard to change."

What was Dick doing? He looked at the gun in his hand and then back at Slade. He emptied the magazine and tossed the gun away. "I really wish you had stayed dead."

"It is unwise to lower your defenses. Haven't I taught you anything?"

For the second time that night, an unexpected calmness swept over Dick. He had killed Slade once before, and to do so again was redundant. Even in his panic, he had managed a killing shot. Everything—the apprenticeship, the murders, the torture—had already ended. There was nothing Slade could do or say to him that hadn't been done before. He could no longer argue that Dick was not a threat, because he certainly was one now.

"You tried to change?" Dick deliberately kept his hands at his sides as Slade approached him. "Trying is different from doing. I tried so hard not to change, but I did."

So many people had died. So much blood and sweat and tears had been shed, and to what end? Money? Power?

Slade sighed. "Yes you did."

"You're going to rot in jail, Slade, and I'll make sure you won't escape."

"Jail? That's it? That's your grand revenge?"

"If I could, I would throw you back to your enemies. I'd let your clients eat you alive.

Dick looked at the Sladebots once again. He had programmed these Sladebots. He knew how they worked, and the rules that Slade had told him to implement. Dick smashed the side of the Sladebot's head and exposed the wiring.

"Assist me, bot."

The Sladebot paused, processing the request, and then it lunged at Slade. Dick stood there as Slade was attacked by his own machine, and though he knew that Slade could destroy it he couldn't do anything but watch.

"I said I'm sorry, Dick!" Slade exclaimed, kicking the bot in the face. "Call it off!"

"You're not sorry. You never were, and you never will be."

"I know what you're planning to do." Slade punched the bot again, causing it to stumble. "Don't do it."

"How can you possibly know what I'm planning to do? You didn't even know that I would kill you."

Slade sighed. "You're right. I didn't know you would kill me. It crossed my mind, but I never wanted to believe it."

"Do whatever you want after this is all over." Dick flung out a hand. "I have my own problems to worry about. Don't interfere in my business."

"Your business? People are dying, and you think that this is just your business? You got Adeline and Joey tangled up in your mess—"

As Slade was distracted by the bot Dick rushed forward, elbowing Slade right in the Adam's apple and kneeing him as he collapsed to the floor.

After everything that had happened, he felt dirt tired. Just the thought of fighting again wore him out, but he had to do it. Even Slade, who spluttered and thrashed on the floor, seemed tired of fighting. Dick pressed his boot against Slade's neck.

"Don't get up."

Dick glared at the Sladebots. Slade had already taken out one, which left Dick nine Sladebots to take out Bane. He rubbed his bruised neck absently. At this rate he'd need all the Sladebots he could get.

"If you hurt me or my friends again I won't hesitate to kill you." Dick snorted, his throat hurting. "Thank you for teaching me how to run a city like a terrorist. But you don't deserve my time. I have more important things to worry about."

"You can't beat him!" Slade shouted. "Bane will kill you!"

"I don't care."

"I can help you, Dick." Slade held up a hand. "Together we can kill him. We can end this. Forget the animosity between us. It's not going to help either of us. I'll even kill him for you."

Dick paused. He turned away from Slade. "That's not something Batman would do."

"But it's something I would do. Something you could do. Let me help you, Dick, and I'll leave everything behind. We'll leave all of this behind us."

"Why?"

"Because I can't see you walk into a fight like this. I'm your mentor. It's what I'm supposed to do." Slade looked at him. "I know I've never done anything for you. But let me help you, and it will be the last thing we do."

Dick opened the door to leave, pausing to kick Slade back down when he tried to stand up. "You'll betray me the moment Bane is dead."

"Those kids you're trying to protect will die right with you! Everyone will die, Dick! Let me help!"

Could he accept Slade's help? Dick gritted his teeth. People were helping him: Catwoman, the Bats, but they were clearly losing. With every fight Dick lost some momentum, but he couldn't stop now. He couldn't trust anyone except himself. "Fuck you."

He walked out the door with the Sladebots following in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack   
> I like Slade too much to kick him out of the story, especially an apprentice au.


	22. Dead Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I SCREWED UP.  
> I made the exact same mistake with Eastern Sky and I posted a chapter out-of-order. Argh. I have the whole fic ready and I've been uploading every day just to make sure everything's ok, but I uploaded the wrong chapter. I deleted the last chapter and will be uploading everything correctly. This is the correct chapter after "fuck you, slade."  
> :(  
> I was too distracted by exciting shenanigans happening yesterday haha. Again, I apologize IMMENSELY.

Slade didn't run after him.

Unlike the many other times Slade had allowed Dick to stomp off, this was different. In his fit of rage he had attempted to strangle Dick, and that did nothing to help. Probably not the best course of action on his part, but he had just felt _so angry._ Now? Eh, not so much. Slade sighed. If he was going to stop Dick, then he'd have to get a move on.

Slade's death hadn't come at the right time. Five years was a long time, but Dick hadn't quite finished his training. Most of the physical aspect was done with. Dick was a powerful young man who, if he were not tired and emotionally burnt-out, could defeat Bane. Of that Slade had no doubt. But Dick was hurt and running completely on fumes. He could pass out from sheer exhaustion at any moment.

Slade got up and ignored the Sladebots working furiously in a nearby room. He could stop them, but they were already on the move. If he interfered right now then Dick would attack him again. And at the moment that didn't sound too appealing.

He walked through the warehouse, old memories of his last visit flitting through his mind. It had been a couple of years since he had a contract in Gotham. Last time Dick had asked to visit his parents' graves by himself, and Slade had allowed it. He thought that a contract in Gotham would alleviate Dick's moodiness and had anticipated the request. All Dick had to do here was accompany Slade—nothing else. It had helped, somewhat.

When Slade got onto the street two familiar people stood in front of the warehouse doors, their arms crossed and faces grim. Adeline and Joey stood in front of him. If he had known that they were out there, then he wouldn't have dared bombed the Batmobile. Slade quickened his pace. "What are you doing here? I thought—"

She slapped him.

"How _dare_ you," she whispered. "How _dare_ you inflict that kind of misery on a child. How dare you treat someone else's child like that when you couldn't even care for your own children."

"You can't tell me how—

"He had every right to kill you," she snapped. "I'd let him kill you again."

"Thought you weren't all about murder."

"That boy has suffered enough."

Silence fell between them. Will had never referred to Dick's suffering so plainly as Adeline did now, but he had implied it through his words. She drew back her hand, as though to slap Slade again. He glared at her, daring her to try. He could only tolerate so much abuse in one night.

"You talked to him?" Slade asked.

"He came to me about your will. I apologized on your behalf." She snorted. "He's too nice. He shouldn't have contacted us, but he did."

Well, at least Dick fulfilled that part of the will. But why should Slade be surprised that Dick did almost everything except become the next Deathstroke?

"Are you here just to tell me how disgusted you feel?"

Adeline didn't need to say it out loud, but he knew that it would make her feel better if she did. Repulsion was etched into every line of her tired face. She raised her gun. "I still don't believe it: how you and Will treated that boy. You're right, I am disgusted."

"Put the gun down. It's not like you can kill me again. If you're going to kill anyone tonight go after Jackal. He started it."

"We've already apprehended Jackal."

Jackal. Everything was his fault: he had hired Bane, he had convinced Dick to kill him, and he had started this whole mess. Part of Slade wanted to go out and murder him, but he had to deal with this other mess first. Slade didn't want to deal with family right now. He didn't have the energy for it. He tried to push past them to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" Adeline still pointed her gun at him. "We're not finished here."

"I'm going to stop Dick."

"Why? So you can continue abusing him—"

"What do you want me to do?" Slade demanded. "I already died once. Are you going to kill me again?"

"Don't give me that."

"Talk to Frannie. Talk to everyone. I died."

"I don't care." She aimed the gun at Slade's chest. "I've waited too long for this."

"You want something to do?" Slade snapped. "Stop trying to kill me, because it's not going to work. That boy will destroy everything."

"Like that's not your fault?"

"You're not listening to me!" Slade replied.

"You never listened to me!"

"I don't care about Jackal! I don't care about Gotham! I don't even care about me! If Dick does this he's going to regret it for the rest of his life!" Slade stopped talking abruptly.

"Since when did you actually care about him?" Adeline sneered.

"Since when do you care about someone else's kid? If Dick proved a threat to Joey or Grant you wouldn't hesitate to shoot him." Adeline lowered her gun. Her expression changed ever so slightly, as though she realized the truth in Slade's words. She didn't even bother defending herself. Adeline could talk and talk about protecting her children, but she would hurt another child if it meant that her own children were safe. If she were desperate. Slade huffed. "I made a lot of mistakes. Let's talk after this is over."

"Why?"

"Gotham is in trouble. The last time I…we…lost someone, it was because I didn't do anything to help."

Help Dick defeat Bane: that was his goal tonight. Slade could leave Gotham and forget that any of this ever happened, but Dick was in trouble. He was pushing away any and all help offered to him, even from his former mentor. This was a plan of a desperate man, not the tactician Slade had trained him to be.

Slade had learned something from all of this: if he wanted Dick's trust, then Slade would have to help him defeat Bane. Now that Dick was old enough to hold his own in a fight, Slade wouldn't be able to control him. Both knew how to fight with each other. Now was the time to solidify the precarious trust they had built over the years. He hated admitting that he had made mistakes with Dick, but he had done the same with Grant. If there was anything Slade would have done differently with Grant, he would have helped him before it was too late. He would not make the same mistake with Dick.

"You're wasting time and energy going after me," Slade said. "I didn't ask for Jackal to target me. I didn't ask for any of this to happen, and I don't want Dick to get hurt. Take care of Jackal, and I'll take care of Gotham."

"I don't trust you."

"Since when have you ever? You may not believe me, but I care for him like my own child." Slade glanced at Joey, who looked away.

"And what will happen after?" Adeline demanded. "Once you 'save' him?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet." Slade felt the bruises around his neck. "I'll deal with that later."

Joey tapped his mother on the shoulder. _"I think he's telling the truth."_

"Thank you, Joey. I'm glad someone here trusts me." He looked at them both, studying them, trying to decide what to say. "I promise I'll stick around to sort out things between us."

"And how much is your promise worth, Slade?"

"I will always protect you. I'd never do anything to harm you two, at least…not on purpose." Slade swallowed, and once again noticed the bruises around his neck.

"Fine." Adeline put her gun away. "You better keep your word."

"I'm sure you'll make me keep it. Just make sure Jackal doesn't escape."

"If you double-cross me—"

"We're wasting time arguing. Just go."

Adeline huffed and spun on her heel. Joey shot a rueful glance at Slade before following his mother. Once she had gotten into her car with Joey and driven away, Slade breathed a little. Knowing what Dick was about to do, Slade had to make sure that they were out of Gotham, just in case things spun out of control.

Frannie waited for him on the other side of the street with the car engine running. Normally Wintergreen, a Sladebot, hell, sometimes even Dick was the getaway driver. This was strange. She looked at him as he sat in the passenger seat, and then looked around, as though she expected someone else to get in the car.

"What the hell happened?" Frannie asked.

"Nothing."

"Did he best you, Slade?" Frannie laughed.

"This isn't funny," Slade snapped.

Frannie looked at him, scrutinizing him, trying to figure out a good response. "You could have knocked the kid out if you wanted to."

"I came close."

"But you held back."

Held back? Is that what Slade did? That speech with Adeline about him caring about Dick was fine and dandy (though admittedly true). Yeah, Slade cared, but he was also willing to use force when necessary. Had he failed because he felt sorry for Dick?

"Let me offer you some parental advice, Slade, if you'll take it," Frannie said. "Kids his age don't like being told what to do, especially when they feel that they've proven themselves."

"Just because he killed me didn't mean that he proved himself."

"Doesn't it?"

Dick had shut down Slade's criminal empire as best he could. He could have done nothing, allowed the Titans to shut everything down for him, but he hadn't. Not yet. Was Dick ready to step up? Stop being an apprentice after all these years?

Slade hadn't been lying: if Frannie hadn't tracked him down he didn't know if he would even be alive. He dug through the glove compartment and found a pack of cigarettes. Frannie watched him silently as he lit one and started smoking. "I know what he's planning to do, Frannie. I have to stop him."

Predicting Dick's plan had been tough, and Slade wasn't even sure if he was right. All he knew was that, based on current information, Dick had to defeat Bane. Bane could not be defeated by ordinary means, as he was no ordinary man, and at this point Dick couldn't beat him. He was too tired, too stressed out to do anything rational. The other kids could only help so much, and Dick wouldn't allow them to help him. Not if there was a chance that Bane would kill them.

After so many years of killing Dick could murder someone again. However, Dick knew that he was too exhausted to fight, and so had only one option left to him. There was a reason why he had come to the Gotham safehouse. It was because Slade had stored something valuable there, something that could endanger the whole city if Dick did something wrong. Slade had sent men ahead of Dick to dismantle the object in question, as well as any other weapons he could use, but Dick had gotten there sooner.

Slade briefly considered allowing this to play out. Perhaps Dick was stable enough to contain the device and eliminate Bane. If so, then that would be one more problem out of the way. But judging from the way Dick had been acting since Belgium, there was simply no way Slade could allow him to continue. For Gotham's sake, if nothing else. Not that Slade particularly cared about the city itself, but he had plenty of business here he'd rather not lose.

Slade looked at a digital map of Gotham, little glowing red dots indicating where all of Batman's kids were. With the information spread out before him, Slade could tell what Dick was doing.

"Is it something I should be concerned about?" Frannie asked.

Ah, that kid. At once so predictable, yet volatile enough to surprise him. Dick had said nothing, but Slade saw his plan slowly unfolding as the night wore on. By now Dick would have activated the device and started the countdown.

Slade let out a cloud of smoke. "He's going to stop time."

* * *

 

_Slade breathed._

_Warm liquid rushed into his lungs, the shock of it jerking him awake. Consciousness returned to him like molasses. As he opened his eyes someone spoke through the water._

_"Son of a bitch."_

_Slade peered through the water. Frannie stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him. Slade couldn't talk, not with the mask over his face. He barely heard her through the water. He realized that he was suspended in a tube of water with plastic tubes running all along his body. A medical tube. How long had he been like this?_

_Frannie slammed a fist against a control panel, and something whirred. The liquid surrounding Slade began to drain. As canned air touched his face Slade remembered many things. He remembered where the dull throbbing pain in his chest came from. He became aware that he was naked, but he didn't care._

_As the tube lifted Slade spluttered and coughed. His legs nearly crumpled underneath him as they touched the cool metal floor. Several other people—doctors, Slade assumed—surrounded him._

_Everything came back to him in a rush. The botched assassin in France. Time in Belgium. Bane and Jackal working together to kidnap Dick. The pain from the headshot, and then darkness._

_The doctors tried to surround him, but Frannie pushed them aside. He couldn't read the expression on her face. Was she upset? Angry? Annoyed? Or all of them at once?_

_It took him a few seconds to form words, and when he spoke he was surprised at how tired he sounded. "Where's Dick?"_

_"The boy?" Despite her small hunched frame, Frannie towered over him. "He ran away. I didn't stop him."_

_"Why—"_

_"You're the one huddled naked on the floor. You tell me."_

_Slade remembered how angry he had been, how Dick had actually shot him in the head. He gritted his teeth. He shouldn't have told Dick anything about Wayne._

_But the fact that it had grabbed Dick's attention so quickly, that even after five years he still showed the slightest hint of concern for someone he hadn't seen in years…_

_"Stupid kid."_

_"Stupid kid? I would have run away too. It wasn't my job to stop him, and I don't think I could have stopped him even if I had wanted to." Frannie nudged him with her foot. "I'd say that your former apprentice is a smart kid."_

_The expression on Dick's face the minute before Slade had died…Slade knew that expression. Dick hadn't meant to kill him. Jackal had pressured Dick into shooting him, and Bane's presence certainly hadn't helped. Hell, Slade's presence hadn't helped either, since he felt it prudent to tell Dick that Wayne was injured. It had only been a passing, desperate thought that could have stalled Dick's hand just long enough for Slade to figure out what to do._

_Frannie snapped at one of the nurses, who handed her a blanket. She draped it over Slade's bare shoulders. "Perhaps it was for the best, Slade. I don't think things would have worked out much longer between you two."_

_"I don't understand…" Slade said softly. "He shot me. I should be dead."_

_Slade hadn't felt so weak in such a long time. He was usually the one taking care of someone else. Usually Dick. Being the weak one felt so strange._

_"That serum you took in the military paid off," Frannie said. "It apparently gave you regenerative abilities. But if I didn't find you when I did, then you might as well have died."_

_Dick had killed him. Slade still couldn't believe it. The little shit had killed him._

_You had it coming, Slade thought._

_He had taught Dick how to be an assassin. How to get himself out of nasty situations. Perhaps Dick believed that neither of them would get out of there alive if someone didn't die._

_"What happened?" Slade asked._

_"Dick shot you and mistook you for dead. Then he came to me, and I let him go."_

_"How was he?"_

_"After you died? Hysterical. He didn't do anything for the longest time."_

_"So he felt guilty."_

_"Hmmm."_

_If everyone thought that he was dead, then the Haunt would already be shut down. Will would do nothing. He'd probably give Dick everything he needed to get away._

_"You need to rest," Frannie said. "You can get on with your life later. Call Will in the morning to pick you up, if you want."_

_Get on with his life. As if he could just forget the last five years and move on. Things had changed on Slade's end as well. Five years spent training the perfect assassin, and in a single day there was no more apprentice._

_He's still my apprentice, Slade thought._

_But was Dick really? A week or two had passed. Dick would have gone back to Wayne or the Titans after he viewed the last will and testament. He would take care of the nanobots first. Once that was over with he would go back to Gotham, no matter what his feelings were. Wayne was injured, and he would do everything possible to rectify the situation._

_Gotham. That's where Slade would go. Frannie was wrong: this wasn't over. Gotham was where Dick would be, and by seeing what Batman had become he could work with Slade again. Slade stood on his weak legs and wrapped the blanket around his waist. He would get through this, just like anything else in life._

* * *

 

Tim and Steph sat huddled behind a block of cement, both listening for Bane's pounding footsteps. Neither of them dared to speak, for fear that Bane would hear their whispers.

"Robin!" Dick's voice crackled through the Bat communicator. "Are you ok?"

All thought of keeping quiet fled from Tim. "Oh my god where the hell are you?"

"Shut up!" Steph hissed. "He's gonna hear us!"

"Tim, I need you to listen to me very carefully," Dick said. "You and Stephanie need to do exactly as I say, or else we're screwed. I need you to trust the Sladebots: they are here to help you."

"What?" Sladebots? What Sladebots? Weren't those robot things evil? Tim lowered his voice. "Why aren't you here? We don't need Sladebots, we need you!"

"My presence will only complicate things," Dick replied. How could he be so calm? Why wasn't he freaking out? "Don't worry, I'll face Bane soon enough."

"We can't outrun Bane forever."

"I understand." Something bleeped on Tim's wrist. "I sent you coordinates. Direct Bane there."

Tim and Steph exchanged glances, though they said nothing. Dick was setting some sort of trap. That much was clear. But what kind of trap would be able to contain Bane?

"Gotta go. Talk to you later." Dick hung up.

"Dick?" Tim exclaimed. "Dick!"

He didn't answer. What the heck, dude?

"Can we trust him?" Tim asked Steph.

"At least he sent help." Steph pointed to a horde of robots rushing towards them. "Better help than you, Mr. I-can't-keep-my-mouth-shut. Look who you brought to the party."

She pointed over his shoulder. Tim turned around and saw Bane lifting a heavy slab of concrete. His body moved before he was even aware of it; Bruce's training kicked in rather quickly. The boulder sped past him by mere inches.

Tim grabbed Stephanie's wrists. "Shall we dance?"

"Oh, you're getting good at this."

She gripped his wrists, and Tim swung her like a frisbee. Batgirl flew as Tim ran after her, trying to attract Bane's attention. He smiled. Though he didn't trust the Sladebots entirely, they would help.

"Come on, hombre!" Tim exclaimed. "Is that the best you got?"

Bane yelled and rushed towards them. Tim could feel himself getting tired. Well, he had only been doing this for what, a few months now? Most of the past two years had been training, and he hadn't been trained properly yet for someone like Bane.

And yet, despite his cheeky grin, he couldn't help but wonder if he could trust Dick.

* * *

 

Dick pulled the cowl back over his head and once again assumed the Batman role. He had gotten what he came for, and now there was no more time to waste.

For some reason, he knew that Slade wasn't going to go after him. He didn't know why; maybe it was just instinct. If Slade was going to do something, then he was going to wait until Bane was taken care of. While his body moved, going forward with his stubborn plan he had decided on several hours ago, Dick's emotions raged.

_Of course Slade is alive. Of course he is._

The normal laws of the universe didn't apply to Slade. How dare Slade come back after Dick had gone to Bruce? How could he after he probably knew that Dick had taken care of the nanobots? Unbelievable.

Things had been tense leading up to their trip to Europe. Their relationship had been nowhere near perfect, and even though Slade was delusional he wasn't stupid. If there was ever a time to end the apprenticeship, then this was freaking it.

He had offered to help Dick, but that was just another one of Slade's plans. If Dick accepted Slade's help, then he would be indebted to Slade. He didn't want that. Slade's help never amounted to anything. Slade was just a self-serving asshole who never offered help unless he wanted something in return. What Slade hoped to ask for Dick in return was beyond him. The only thing Dick could think of was Slade asking him to be his apprentice again, which was idiotic.

His footfalls became erratic as his strength ebbed. Dick looked up at the sky, wondering what time it was. Always the darkest before the dawn. Wasn't it Commissioner Gordon who said that? He stumbled and leaned against a wall.

Slade had a point, he thought. That fight took the last of my strength.

Even if Dick hated it, Slade had learned exactly how Dick worked. Slade had trained Dick long enough to understand his limits. Slade knew when Dick couldn't do something, and even if he had been an asshole he never pushed Dick relentlessly. Just enough at a time to make Dick do whatever it was.

Guilt for the crimes he had committed over the past five years would eat him alive until the day he died. If he hadn't been so stupid, then none of this would have happened. Because of Dick, all of the Titans had to live in fear, never knowing when they would be murdered. Because Dick had left Gotham, he made everyone anxious for his safety. Because Dick wasn't there for Bruce, Bane had broken his back.

He had done the impossible before. Somehow, he had beaten Slade, his arch-nemesis, and now he had to find redemption. The GCPD were already busting their balls getting the civilians to safety. None of their officers deserved to die tonight. If anyone was going to die tonight, then it would be him.

One of the Sladebots caught him as he fell forward. The Sladebot's grip was surprisingly gentle. Dick looked up at it. "Thank you."

He shook himself from the Sladebot. He still couldn't believe that this was happening all at once, and part of him wondered if he had been foolish for not accepting Slade's help. But since when had Slade been concerned for his safety? Or even that of his friends?

Dick pushed away the Sladebot and continued on to another room, which was part of another auxiliary building connected to the main warehouse. When he pulled open the double-doors a roomful of Sladebots looked up at him. Well, there it was. Dick hadn't been crazy, and even now his memory served him well. His shoulders slumped as he looked up at the hated device.

The thing he hated the most, the device that had started it all, sat waiting for him in the room: the Chronoton Detonator. The real one, not the one that Slade had used to infect the Titans. Slade had used the machine's exterior to create the dud and stored the real thing near Gotham. Huh. Still here, even after all these years.

"You were right, Slade," Dick muttered. "Every threat you make is real."

Slade wouldn't have stopped time in Jump City. Dick should have realized that from the beginning. But he had been young and gullible. What hero wouldn't have tried to stop Slade? Dick pressed the glowing power button.

A keyboard popped out of the device, the welcome screen glowing as it warmed up. The Chronoton Detonator stopped time in a localized area and destroyed the time-space continuum. Dick almost smiled at the memory of Starfire explaining how the machine worked so succinctly to Beast Boy, but then Dick remembered his stupid plan. This was his only chance, the only thing he could do to save Gotham. Engaging Bane in a physical fight would only get him killed.

This was the best option available to him: by trapping Bane in a time bubble he'd accomplish two things: get rid of Bane for good and avoid killing him. And even if there wasn't a device that would reverse its effects, Dick didn't care. Bruce never killed anyone or hurt them permanently, if he could help it. But if Dick could trap Bane, as well as other Gotham villains, in the time bubble, then it would be done. Bruce wouldn't like it, but then again Bruce wasn't calling the shots here. And honestly, Dick didn't have time to consult with him.

Dick set the coordinates and made sure the remote control worked. He wondered, if by chance, he would accidentally get caught in the time field.

That's not gonna happen, Dick thought.

There was no more room for mistakes. If he failed to trap Bane, then it was all over, and the Bats would evacuate Gotham to wait for external help. If he failed, then he failed. He couldn't mess up anymore than he had already.

He typed in the coordinates and pressed the start button. It beeped softly. There. It was done. No turning back now. Dick pushed the keyboard back into the machine. He set his watch to the timer and made a note of the coordinates to the time bubble. It was done.

How long would it take for everyone to figure out what he was up to? Not long, especially when Bruce was watching over everyone, but he couldn't do anything to stop him.

Using the Chronoton Detonator was a fitting end to it all. The apprenticeship began with it, and if Slade still decided to interfere then it would end once and for all with the device. Dick didn't care if Slade got caught in the time bubble. He had already killed him once. To do so again, for everyone's safety, would be easier than the first time.


	23. Dark, Sad Lonely Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read "Dead Calm" (chapter 22) before this because I am dumb and screwed up the chapter order. I literally posted THE WRONG CHAPTER ON FRIDAY AHHHHHH

**-DG-**

He thought about many things on his drive to the Gotham Pier. Good thing there weren't too many people out on the empty streets, for he was driving a little recklessly. Speeding through red lights, stop signs, not slowing down at corners—was he even trying to be careful? Whatever. Wasn't his car.

To get his mind off his reckless driving he thought more about the Chronoton Detonater. Dick had only seen the Chronoton Detonator once after the incident on Pier 41. A real Chronoton Detonator, not the dud that had infected the Titans.

It was there, Slade had explained, because of a contract. It was there for safe-keeping, and no one except Slade and his client were supposed to know about it. Dick only knew because he had glimpsed it during his stay in Gotham.

He had just come back from the graveyard, sopping wet because he had walked home in the rain, and just a tad bit earlier than expected. An unfamiliar client with a foreign accent was speaking with Slade, his back towards the open door. Upon spotting Dick, Slade moved to close the door and motioned for Dick to go away. Yet as Slade moved, Dick saw what he thought was the Chronoton Detonator.

Memories like this blended together, as Dick had learned to ignore all the strange clients for his own safety. Seeing the Chronoton Detonator burned the memory into his mind, as it was the thing that had started the apprenticeship. But memories were just that: memories. One thing led to another, and while thinking about the Chronoton Detonater made him think about a host of other memories, he couldn't afford to do that now.

The coordinates were set for a warehouse on the Gotham pier. At this time of the night it should be abandoned until the workers came back for their morning shift. There seemed to be an abundance of warehouses in Gotham that Dick could use. He knew that the Gotham villains certainly did.

As he drove towards the spot where Bane, Tim and Stephanie were fighting, a growing headache pounded against his skull. Thoughts of what the others would say within the hour made his skin crawl. No one would approve. Not even Slade approved.

Everything about this situation was just pure luck. Even with Slade in the way things were starting to get under control. Dick had saved Dr. Arkham and the orderlies with Catwoman. So far no one had died, so at least he could say that he had done that much.

* * *

 

**-BW-**

What the hell was Dick doing?

Dick may have severed communications, but Barbara was working hard to establish contact. At any moment now communication would be restored, and Bruce could get something under control. It felt strange not to pace around the room. Walking around helped him release some of the tension firing up his aching muscles, and not being able to do that only increased his anxiety.

"Dick is still outside Gotham, but he appears to be heading back towards Arkham," Barbara said. "He's back in the Batmobile."

"Back on track, then?" Bruce frowned. "If you can figure out what he was doing—"

"Does that even matter?" Barbara asked. "You can't micromanage him."

Bruce tapped his fingers on the computer console, the machine's heat warming him in the Bat Cave's damp coolness. He didn't like this one bit. Sure, Dick may have a plan he was refusing to show Bruce, but who knew if it was a good plan?

Worrying about Dick was only part of the problem. If Bruce spent all of his time worrying about Dick then he'd risk everyone else's lives. Catwoman, Tim, Stephanie—they were all in just as much danger. But having spent nearly every waking moment worrying about Dick for the past five years, Bruce couldn't just drop old habits at will.

"Catwoman, come in."

"I'm here, Bruce." Catwoman voice crackled through the comm-link. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Dick came here to activate the Sladebots, but that didn't seem to take long. Why was he here longer? What else did he do?"

Two Sladebots followed in Catwoman's wake, following Dick's instructions no matter how often she told them to go away. So, resigned, she let them follow her. Bruce still wasn't certain how to feel about the Sladebots following everyone around, but so far they hadn't done anything except creep silently behind them.

"Looks like there was a fight," Catwoman said. "Can't say who would, or who he was fighting."

This was Slade's hideout, right? Bruce's eyes narrowed. He knew that Slade had accomplices even if Dick hadn't mentioned them, and only Slade was confirmed dead. If Dick had encountered one of Slade's friends without telling Bruce…

He pushed those thoughts away. Whoever Dick fought, he had won and left already. "Take out your Geiger Counter."

For a few minutes Catwoman walked around the warehouse, the Geiger Counter's constant clicking grating at Bruce's ears. He had given it to her just in case one of the Arkham villains got his hands on a nuclear weapon (not that that would likely be the case) or to help search for any villain who happened to be radioactive.

"What the hell is that?" Catwoman exclaimed.

"What is it?"

"I'm sending you a picture right now."

Bruce's communicator buzzed. He unlocked it and looked at the picture, staring at it for several seconds before he fully registered the device: a Chronoton Detonator.

Having never personally dealt with such a device, Bruce only knew its power by reputation alone. An extraterrestrial origin, Bruce believed, was plausible given the fact that Clark, Martian Manhunter and the Lantern Corps were alarmed the most upon hearing the Titans' story.

"I'll tell the Titans," Bruce said.

"What?"

"Cyborg knows how to stop the device." Though last time Cyborg did accidentally set it off, he had no idea that it was a dud. "The Titans are determined to get here fast enough to help Dick. If this is true, then I need Cyborg's mechanical expertise."

If Dick wasn't going to trust the team he had put together five years ago, then the best Bruce could do was trust in them. They weren't teenagers anymore.

"Understood. I'm pulling up instructions on how to dismantle the device," Barbara said. "Shall I try to contact the Justice League?"

"Not if you find adequate instructions that Cyborg can follow. If this thing malfunctions the time bubble could fluctuate and expand outside the localized area. If it does, then call the JLA. Catwoman, what are the coordinates on the screen?"

She repeated the numbers, which Bruce immediately put into the computer. Gotham Pier. How fitting: Dick wanted to end it all where it started, and as best as he could with the things he had available.

"Catwoman, I need you to clear out that area before two AM," Bruce said. "That Chronoton Detonator will stop time permanently in that one warehouse. Once it's done, then there's nothing we can do to get anyone out."

"Fine." Catwoman hung up.

He almost swore, but he stopped himself. What good was that? Blaming Dick wouldn't do anything to help the situation. Bruce took out his communicator and called Cyborg.

"Anything new, Mr. Wayne?" Cyborg asked.

It sounded as though Cyborg was driving in the T-Car. A quick check told Bruce that the Titans were just outside Gotham. How did they get here so quickly? Bruce dismissed the thought. It didn't matter how they got here.

"Hurry up, Titans," Bruce said. "Dick set the Chronoton Detonator."

"What?" A car wheel squealed, as though Cyborg had momentarily lost control of the T-Car. "What Chronoton Detonator? The last one was a fake. Slade was bluffing, so why—"

"I don't know why or how, but Slade somehow got his hands on a real one and kept it in Gotham, and now Dick is using it to his advantage."

A Chronoton Detonator. Dick had no right to use such a thing, even in a situation like this. Even considering Dick's training, Bruce didn't think that Slade would be stupid enough to train Dick how to use it. Slade understood the risks, which is why he hadn't used a real one in the first place.

"We'll all be convincing him to call it off. Titans out."

Cyborg hung up.

"You didn't tell Tim or Stephanie," Barbara said. "Why?"

"Tim has enough to worry about with Bane on his trail. If we can figure out another solution before they hit the time bubble then we don't have to tell anyone else." Bruce gritted his teeth. God Almighty, why couldn't Dick have chosen something else? "If they get too close to the bubble we'll let them know."

"Right."

Bruce could tell that Barbara didn't quite agree with him, but he had to do what needed to get done. He wouldn't allow Dick to do this to himself.

* * *

 

**-S-**

It was happening all over again.

After trying to forget that fateful night five years before, memories began bombarding Starfire in vicious waves. Every time a Chronoton Detonator was mentioned, it always brought up the morning the Titans were infected with the nanobots. Every mention reminded her that at any moment she could die, and even for heroes that was a difficult thing to deal with.

Like the other Titans, Starfire had to deal with that as she saw fit. For some time she went back to Tamaran to visit Galfore and other distant relatives, uncertain if the signal for the nanobots would work through intergalactic space. And even if it didn't, the Titans couldn't all go to space. They would be avoiding the problem and be unable to help Jump City.

No one seemed to believe it. Their Robin, who had worked so hard to protect Jump City from Slade's Chronoton Detonator, just couldn't be doing this. Surely some other mischief was at work here.

"What the heck!" Beast Boy exclaimed. "Now he's really acting like Slade?"

"Enough!" Raven lowered her hood and glared at them all. "Arguing about whose fault it is won't do us any good. I'm calling Dick."

Starfire waited anxiously for Dick to pick up. She understood that the Chronoton Detonator had been a fake last time, and while Slade was certainly a bad man he at least refused to use the real device to threaten Jump City. But for Dick to use a real one? Inconceivable!

"Robin—Dick," Raven said. "What are you doing with a Chronoton Detonator?"

"What?" Dick sounded taken aback. "How did you find out?"

"Mr. Wayne."

"Of course."

"Why do you feel that this is necessary?" Starfire asked. "There must be another way."

"Yeah," Beast Boy said, "just because you're trying to stop these bad things from happening doesn't mean that you have to act like Slade!"

Dick was silent for a long moment. "If I have to act like Slade to save Gotham, then so be it."

His voice was calm, cold, even colder than Starfire ever remembered. All at once he sounded like the Batman, who could not afford to show emotions for fear that he would mess up. It was the complete opposite of Starfire's own powers, which needed passion and rage to spark a starbolt.

"If you do not desist, then we will be forced to stop you," Starfire said.

"You want Gotham destroyed?" Dick asked. "I don't. We don't have time to come up with a better plan."

Dick hung up.

Cyborg cursed.

"Don't say a word," Raven hissed. "Dick is experiencing a myriad of emotions you cannot possibly understand. There is something else he isn't telling us, something that Mr. Wayne might know that we don't."

"I do not like this," Starfire said. "Even if he experiencing grief and anxiety why should he use the device?"

"Talking with him just makes him more anxious. We need to go where he's going and help him." Raven pulled her hood back over her hood. "That's the only way we can help him."

Even though Starfire knew that Raven controlled her emotions, she had been friends with her long enough to know when something deeply disturbed her. It had been years since Raven had allowed her demon self to take over, and yet Starfire couldn't help but wonder if Raven would unleash it tonight.

**-SW-**

"Idiot boy," Slade muttered.

Slade stood in the living of a newer safe house, one that Frannie had acquired mere hours ago. His costume hung on a hook, newly repaired and stocked with weapons. He stared at it, wondering what the hell he was going to do.

Dick had been acting as the new Deathstroke even if he hadn't realized it. If Slade hadn't stopped him, then Dick would have utilized anything else he could find. Though, Slade reasoned, that was partly Slade's fault. During the two weeks since he had been shot, Slade hadn't bothered to contact Dick. Part of him was afraid to acknowledge that Dick had turned on him, that all of his hard work had dissipated in a matter of hours.

Strange, considering that Slade normally checked in constantly, but if he called Dick would just yell and hang up. Unless Slade had a strategy, then he wouldn't call. And if he had set his watch correctly, then Slade only had an hour to come up with a plan to convince Dick not to use the Chronoton Detonator.

"Why do you have a Chronoton Detonator in the first place?" Frannie demanded. "You know how dangerous they are."

"It was part of a contract. I was going to get rid of it, but I thought it might be useful." Slade peeled off his shirt, never minding that Frannie was in the room. "I should've gotten rid of it. Just sitting here…in Gotham of all places…it was a liability."

Anyone could have gotten a hold of the Chronoton Detonator. Yeah, Slade had the safehouse pretty well protected, but if the Joker had gotten a hold of it…Slade didn't even want to think about it.

"What's the plan?"

"Plan? I have no plan. I'll shoot Bane in the head before Dick even comes close to him."

"The boy won't like it."

"Too bad. I've been listening to the Bats' comm-links. Wayne is just at a loss. He can't stop Dick. Only I can. If I can stop Bane before Dick hurts himself anymore, then he will be forced to stop the Chronoton Detonator."

Adeline's sneering words about Slade caring for Dick barreled through his mind. Damn hypocrite. If anything, he had expected her to praise him for changing his ways. Instead of hurting Dick, as she claimed he would do, he was going out to save him. That was something noble, something worthy of a hero. In the process he would save Gotham, and perhaps Dick would finally show some semblance of gratitude.

"And the Chronoton Detonator?"

"Let Bane trap himself in the time bubble for all I care. But I'd rather kill him and be done with it."

"Can you shut it down?"

"Not at this stage. The machine locks itself and can't be used again until time stop completely in that set area. The damage is already done. The best we can do is damage control."

By now all of his networks would have been notified of his death. After tonight everyone would know that he was still alive.

"Have you called Will yet?" Frannie asked.

"No. Once this is over I will."

Wintergreen was going to be so angry once he discovered that Slade was alive. Slade pulled on his suit and once again resumed his role as Deathstroke. So much for his retirement plan.

* * *

 

**-DG-**

Even from this block he could see clouds of dust from the Batkids fighting Bane. He planned to park the Batmobile, check where the Sladebots were, and then join the fray. A harsh marine fog was already rolling in to obscure the moon, and when he rolled the window he caught a whiff of the sea. Because so many villains took advantage of the warehouses here, Dick happened to know them well. Now he was going to use that knowledge to his advantage. In just one hour Bane would arrive, and the time bubble would activate. So long as Tim and Stephanie postponed their battle long enough, then they would be able to trap Bane at the right time. Time was everything now.

"Dick." Dick started. Since when had Bruce re-established the comm-link? "Dick, I want to talk to you."

Screw it. Bruce already knew about the Chronoton Detonator, so there was no point denying it.

"How long did it take you to find out?"

"Longer than usual. You've learned how to stay hidden well. But you asked me to help you as Batman, so I'm going to give you some advice: Abandon the Chronoton Detonator, or else you'll regret for the rest of your life."

"I already regret a lot of things, Bruce."

"There's something you're not telling me."

A heart-to-heart conversation right now? Maybe….maybe he just needed to talk to someone right now.

"Slade's back." Dick swallowed. "I didn't know he had powers."

Bruce fell silent.

"I want…tell the Titans that…I trust them. I want them to go after Slade instead of following me. That's the best way they can help me now."

Coward. He couldn't even tell that to their faces. Some leader he was.

"Do you think Slade is following you?"

"I don't know. He confronted me, I defeated him, and then he left."

But isn't that what you wanted? For him to leave you alone?

Yet again, Dick wondered if he should accept Slade's help. Even when contracts had gone bad, Slade had always gotten them out. When it came to their lives, Slade made certain that Dick experienced minimal harm.

What am I thinking? Dick thought, cradling his temple in a gloved hand. If Slade really cared then he wouldn't have hurt me.

Slade acted as if he was the only one allowed to hurt him, as if he even had the right to.

"It's never that simple, especially with such personal villains."

"As if you know anything about that!" Dick snapped. "None of your enemies kept you imprisoned for five years! You don't know anything about our relationship."

"No, I don't. But what you may not know, Dick, is that Slade spoke with me several times. Maybe I know little about how things worked between you two, but I can take a very educated guess."

How dare Slade do that. How dare Slade talk with Bruce?! "You can't stop me."

"I know I can't. I said that I trusted you, and I still do. You can figure this out without resorting to Slade's tactics."

"I can't stop the timer now."

"There's always another way out. You aren't Slade, no matter what you believe."

Dick took a deep breath. "Unless you have a better suggestion—"

"You can call for help. Please call for help."

"This is coming from you? You hate working with people, Bruce. All you ever did was complain about how the GCPD works, how Clark and everyone—"

"I didn't hate working with you."

Dick almost veered off the road.

"Stop the car and listen to me, Dick: this one-man act isn't cut out for you. Batman doesn't exist in a vacuum. I may have made mistakes, but I'll never regret training you."

Why did everyone want him to be their kid? Everyone wanted to take care of him, train him, thought of him as a sad little boy who needed guidance. With so many people fighting for his custody Dick had little stability. And now, at twenty-one, there was no need for anymore foster parents. No one needed to take care of him anymore.

"We don't have time for this, Bruce."

"Why are you so afraid of calling for help? Stop cutting us off. We're trying to help you."

"What are you going to do, boss me around?"

"I'm not answering your questions!"

"I put you in charge. I'm only in the background."

"I'm a terrible leader!" Dick exclaimed. "I tried leading the Titans and look where that left me!"

"They told me what happened. You tried to face Slade on your own."

"Cinderblock dragged me away. There wasn't any time to call the Titans, not unless I wanted to stop the detonator."

Slade had deliberately separated Robin from everyone else, and he had been so angry that he never noticed. What an idiot.

"Did you and your team not take down several dangerous villains?"

"Never as dangerous as Slade."

"Silly villains, British villains, deep-sea monsters, the HIVE kids…are you telling me that your actions then were worthless? You aren't a terrible leader. Just an inexperienced one."

"After this I'm done," Dick said. "I'm done with it all. I can't do this anymore. I can't see the Titans like this again, and if I do I'm just going to fail them again. I'll fail you again. I don't care if Slade is back, because he knows I'm a freaking traitor. I'm not worth his time anymore. I'm going back to Mr. Haley and starting all over again. I don't care if I have to scoop up elephant poop for the rest of my life. I can't possibly make up for all the lives I've taken, not even with this. I just want out. Don't you dare try to stop me, or coddle me, or do anything once this is done. Promise me that, and I swear that if I think of something else I'll shut down the Chronoton Detonator as best as I can."

Bruce said nothing for a few seconds. Dick found himself wiping away tears that had fallen down his face. He couldn't believe the words that had come out of his mouth. He told the Titans that he needed them, but he just didn't deserve them. He didn't deserve anyone, and his presence would only make them sad because he had changed so much. He couldn't do that to his friends. Not anymore.

"If that's the best thing for you to do, then I won't stop you. I respect your decision. Go, then. You're running out of time."

They hung up on one another.

Why did Bruce have to call? Now he wouldn't be able to focus. For a moment he clutched the steering wheel tightly and thought about life after this. He would leave everyone and go back to his origins, back to people who had cared for him as a child. Outside of this conflict he had a shred of a civilian life he could back to. He'd make it work. He'd make all of this work. Somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has continued to read even though I totally skipped a chapter with IMPORTANT INFORMATION and left it up for two days.


	24. The Space Time Continuum

**-TD-**

This wasn't so much a fight, but a game of hide and seek. Tim and Stephanie would run and hide, perhaps buying a few minutes before Bane barreled through. Dust and sweat covered his face as he got up. They weren't fighting in the warehouse, but rather outside, just as Dick had ordered. Tim had no idea what the hell Dick was planning, but he had to trust Batman. Bruce trusted Dick, so there was no need to worry, right?

_Even if Dick doesn't want to tell me the plan?_

Heeding Stephanie's advice, Tim tried to think like Dick in the few seconds he had. Talking over the communicators ran the risk of someone overhearing. Who knew how much Bane knew? If he somehow could eavesdrop on them, then that could be one reason. Another? Who knew?

_Maybe Dick has no idea what he's doing._

"You two are a nuisance," Bane growled. "I won't play this game any longer." Bane grabbed Stephanie by the neck. "If Batman refuses to show himself, then perhaps your demise will."

"Batgirl!"

A flood of anxiety bombarded Tim as Bane lifted Stephanie off the group, holding her up solely by the neck. She grabbed Bane's arm to steady herself, struggling to gain some traction so she could breathe.

"Let her go right now!"

"It's too late, boy." Bane gazed at Tim. "If you didn't want to get hurt you shouldn't have joined the Batman."

Tim took out his bo-staff. He was no match against Bane. He knew that. He had volunteered for the position, even knowing the bad track record with Robins. Somehow, he thought that he could break the cycle. Too young, too inexperienced, too bold. Those were all the marks of a Robin, what defined him.

And yet, even though he knew that he and Stephanie were too young to be in this fight, he felt like he couldn't regret becoming Robin. If he regretted it now, if he let Bane's words get to him, then Bane would win.

"What do you want?" Tim spat. "Just let her go. It's me you want."

"Don't fancy yourself important, boy. You're just one chess piece. Wayne's suffering is what I want."

The two remaining Sladebots accompanying them halted. Could they analyze situations like this? Were they waiting to attack Bane? Or waiting for a command from Dick, who was undoubtedly sending them updates? Tim didn't know. All he knew was that he hated working with the Sladebots, since they got in the way more often than not.

"Why are you doing this, Bane?" Tim demanded.

"Because I must."

Tim spun his head around when he heard a car screeched to a halt. The Batmobile stopped in front of the warehouse, its engine loud enough to draw attention anywhere. Everyone, including Bane, stopped what they were doing to look around. The car door opened, revealing Gotham's famed Dark Knight.

Finally. Batman was here.

Unless one knew Bruce and Dick well, it was easy to mistake one for the other. Yet Tim could see how the uniform sagged a bit around the shoulders. Dick was kinda bulky, but even under Slade's tutelage he didn't build that much muscle. He just wasn't built that way. But Dick looked a little worn, even in the Batman suit, and it was evident in the way he emerged from the car.

He slouched under the harsh pier light. He didn't straighten until he saw Bane, and even then he just looked coldly at the villain.

"Let her go," Dick said. "I'll fight you, and I won't run away this time."

Tim flinched as Bane tossed Stephanie aside. She rolled away, stayed still for a moment, and then forced herself to get up. He wasted no time rushing to her side, all the while keeping his gaze on Dick and Bane. They started circling each other warily, each assessing the damage they had obtained during the night.

"What the heck," Stephanie muttered. "He looks like he's gonna collapse."

"Maybe it's all part of the plan," Tim whispered back. "Let's wait."

Now Bane's attention was focused completely on Dick. A wry smile played on his lips as he scrutinized his enemy. "You don't look so good, Batman."

"Don't I know," Dick said, shutting the car door softly. "I'm here, Bane. Let's end this."

"Yeah, we're going to end this!" Stephanie exclaimed, massaging her throat

"Go," Dick said. "You two have done enough."

"We're not leaving you behind!" Tim shouted.

Dick waved his hand. The two Sladebots accompanying them suddenly turned and grabbed Tim's arm.

"It's too dangerous for you here," Dick said. "You're not going to get hurt. Not on my watch."

As Tim struggled to free himself the Sladebot only grabbed his other hand. "What are you doing?"

No one save Stephanie paid attention to him. The Sladebots dragged them away. Being unfamiliar with the things, the Sladebots seemed incredibly strong. But Tim was more paralyzed by the fact that Dick was sending them away.

"I made a promise to Bruce that you two wouldn't get hurt," Dick said. "Let's finish what we started in Bruges."

"Very well."

Bane and Batman sprinted towards each other, shouting incomprehensible insults as, for perhaps the final time, they clashed.

**-Raven-**

"Be careful," Oracle said through the communicator. "Batman has engaged Bane. It'll be difficult to get in between them without hurting Dick."

Raven sat in the back of the T-Car, trying to meditate with everyone screaming all around her. Even though they knew that Dick was going to use the Chronoton Detonator they still couldn't believe that he was going through with the plan. From a certain standpoint Raven understood why Dick would do it; he was a villain's apprentice, after all.

Knowing this, they could possibly predict Dick's actions during a battle like this one. If Dick felt like a villain because of the crimes Slade had forced him to commit, then they needed to show him that so many people didn't think that way. They needed all the Titans, the Titans East and West and all the honorary Titans, at their disposal now more than ever. A handful of Titans could always get things done, but Raven wanted to show Dick what they had become. Ever since Starfire crashlanded into Jump City none of their lives had ever been the same. It was his idea to start the group, and without the Titans Raven didn't know where she would be now. And she was certain Dick felt the same way.

"Come on, Rae," Cyborg said, touching her shoulder gently. "Let's do this."

**-DG-**

They started fighting. With the night closing in on them, and the fog obscuring the sky, Dick couldn't help but be reminded of old times fighting alongside Bruce. Before he fought Bane in Bruges he had fought him only a few other times, and each time he never expected to win alone. He always had to trust in Bruce.

Bane wasn't like other big baddies. Cinderblock was just a hunk of rock. Plasmus, with his radioactive goo, was harder to manage, but he still had a weakness. Just knock the guy out and he'd turn back into a human. Like the others, Bane had a weak spot: the venom. If Dick could somehow manage to cut Bane off from his venom supply, then he would gave a better chance at defeating him.

But this, and all other information, was moot now that Dick had activated the Chronoton Detonator. On the drive here he had thought all about the different ways he could beat Bane, since he had promised Bruce that he would try to find another way.

After taking a deep breath Dick charged at Bane again. He moved to avoid Bane's fist, which changed tactics and grabbed the cape instead. Dick automatically reached for the collar and detached the cape. Bane threw it away and threw another punch at Dick's head.

"I must admit," Bane said between punches, "that I didn't expect you to keep going."

"Only as long as I have to."

As they punched and ducked and parried each others' blows, Dick's mind, though slightly sluggish, whirled with thoughts. Not a second could be wasted on depressing thoughts. Every second he calculated Bane's next move. Bane's bulkiness could work against him. Even though Dick was hurt, he was more agile than Bane. If he really tried he could be faster.

Dick took out his last Batarang and threw it towards Bane's back. In one smooth motion Bane spun around and knocked the Batarang away.

"You think you're the first one to try that?" Bane boomed. "Stupid boy. You'll have to try harder than that."

Dick grimaced. It was worth a shot. Slade's smirking face crept through his mind.

_"If you want to kill me you'll have to try harder than that."_

He ran through the belt's inventory, trying to figure out what weapons he could use without pushing himself in a corner. Batarangs were out of the question now. He could use one of the smoke bombs, but that wasn't smart because it was already foggy outside. What he should be doing was using the terrain to his advantage, especially since he was the one who had picked out the battle ground. He glanced up and around. Were Tim and Stephanie still around? If he knew Bruce, and everyone who had trained underneath him, then Dick knew that they would never abandon him. They would be surveying the battle from some vantage point, telling Oracle and Bruce everything that was happening. He knew that if he were in their position he would do the same.

He jumped as Bane tried to tackle him, and used the momentum to flip over Bane. Bane grabbed the hand Dick placed on his shoulder and slammed him against the ground. Pain shot through his entire body, and his limbs twitched.

His world went fuzzy. For the first time in minutes he was aware of how much pain he was in, and how much he wanted to black out. Dick couldn't move. He felt like he didn't have the energy or the willpower, or even the physical capability to do it. Breathing hurt. Every breath he took stabbed his lungs.

Dick didn't even have to feel his ribs to know that some of them were broken. Even though he had suffered broken ribs many times it still hurt. As Dick struggled to get up Bane kicked him in the face.

"I actually wanted to be wrong about you, muchacho," Bane said. "I thought you'd be different, being Deathstroke's apprentice. I thought you'd put up more of a fight, perhaps be better than Wayne, but you've fallen into the same trap. He truly was a failure."

Dick had to move. He had to do something before Bane killed him, but none of his muscles wanted to move. What if, after all this time, Dick failed? What if, even if he somehow survived, he ended up paralyzed like Bruce? Then he wouldn't be able to go back to anything, not even Mr. Haley's circus. There wasn't anything he could do without being able to walk. It'd be pointless.

Before Bane could grab him and crush him something pummeled into him. Dick yelped as pain barreled through him, and as he skidded across the pavement he didn't move. The end of his long night would finish with his death. What a fitting end to the Batman saga.

He barely registered that Bane had pushed one of the buttons on his wrist, which pumped up his muscles even more. No turning back now: Bane was going to kill him. He closed his eyes as Bane threw another punch at his head.

Someone suddenly blocked Bane's fist. Dick looked up and saw Slade standing above him, using both of his hands to hold back Bane's fist.

"Don't…" Dick forced himself to his knees. "Don't fight my battles, Slade."

"Too bad," Slade said. "You want to get out of this alive? Then let me help you."

"You…" Bane looked at Slade, shocked. "You're supposed to be dead. This whelp killed you."

"Yeah, but this whelp is also my student." Slade stood over him and unsheathed his sword. "Don't touch him again."

Dick had sent Tim and Stephanie away to the Watch Tower. Even if Bruce had sent backup, who knew what time they would get here? Dick couldn't fight.

"What do you take me for, a damsel in distress?"

"Shut up," Slade snapped. "You'll hurt yourself."

No. He wasn't going to let this happen again. Every single muscle in his body ached. At this point he knew that willpower wouldn't be enough. How embarrassing.

A ball of sizzling green light flew right by his face, so close that it singed his suit. Slade spun as he flew, skidding a few feet before rolling to a stop. Dick shielded his eyes as several more balls of light sped through the air. When the attack finally ended, he opened his eyes.

Starfire floated above him, her eyes glowing fiercely, starbolts fizzling in her clenched fists, tendrils of light bleeding from her eyes. From the way her starbolts lit her face, he almost thought that her long hair was also made of fire.

"Leave. Him. Alone." She spoke in a low, cold voice.

As his vision adjusted to the sudden light Dick saw the T-Car descending from the starry sky. They were here? How? Why?

Something smelled burnt, and it took Dick a few seconds to realize that it was Slade's suit burning. Before he could respond Starfire flew at him, grabbing Slade by the shoulders and slamming him into the cement. Dick hadn't seen her fight like that since Blackfire came to Jump, but this was different. Now she could shoot Starbolts out of her eyes. Cool.

Through the dim light he saw the other Titans descend from the flying T-Car. Since when could the T-Car fly? A hawk flew in looping circles, surveying the damage before landing beside him. Dick barely saw Raven descend in a flood of darkness.

"What…" Dick lifted his head to look at them. "How…how did you get here so fast?"

They weren't paying attention to him. Beast stared at Starfire, his jaw open slightly.

"Dude," Beast Boy said. "Looks like she's got Slade covered. But freaking Slade! I thought Dick said—"

"Make sure Batgirl and Robin are OK, BB," Cyborg said. "We don't have time for resurrection theories. Raven—"

"I'm already on it."

Cyborg and Raven crowded around him.

"He's hurt bad, Rae," Cyborg said, scanning him with a diagnostic scanner. "You're going to have to sit this one out, Bats."

"You shouldn't be here," Dick spluttered. "You'll get hurt."

Raven reached out and touched Dick's feverish face with her cool hands. "You know how much you're hurt. Please let us help you."

Dick pushed her hands away and tried to push himself to his feet.

"Don't stand up," Cyborg said, "Come on, man, you're not going to be able to walk for a week."

Everything hurt so much, but Dick didn't care. The thought of leaving this unfinished hurt more than all of his wounds.

"Don't take me away," Dick snapped. "Don't teleport me anywhere. I have to finish this."

"You don't have to finish anything," Raven said. "You're hurt. You can't help anyone like this."

"You don't know what I can do."

"It's over," Cyborg said, "we're going to contain the area and make sure no one gets stick in the time bubble."

Out of the corner of his eye Dick saw Starfire fighting Slade. He wanted to help her, he wanted to help everyone for getting into his mess. Raven picked him up and slung one of his arms across her shoulder.

"But the Chronoton Detonator—" Dick began.

"Like I said: we're gonna make sure no one is trapped. Not even Bane." Cyborg patted him awkwardly on the back. "We got this covered, man."

 _No,_ Dick thought, _I do._

**-Starfire-**

She didn't even realize that tears were falling down her face as she slammed Slade into the wall so hard that the concrete cracked behind him.

How had she thought this man so deadly before? An unbeatable foe that could not be stopped? Without the nanobots to support him, Slade was nothing more than a common man.

"He said you were dead," she hissed. "Why are you not deceased?"

"You really want to interrogate me now?"

"I can see why he liked you," Slade choked. "I can appreciate a strong woman aha—ah!"

Star's grip around his neck tightened. "I can snap your neck with one hand."

"I believe it." Slade attempted to move, but froze when she squeezed her hand again.

"Do not move," she said.

"What are you going to do? Kill me?"

"I would very much like to."

"Well," Slade said, pausing to breathe, "I don't think Dick will take my death kindly. Again."

Would Dick want Slade dead again? She paused. Dick had killed Slade, but then expressed remorse when he came back to Jump.

"What are you doing here?" Starfire demanded.

"I came to help."

"Why should you help him?" Starfire let go of Slade's throat and grabbed his uniform. "He is no longer your student."

"Why shouldn't I help him? He's my student, or was. Just because you think I made him suffer doesn't mean that I didn't care for him."

"You don't care about him," Starfire snapped. "You never have. I do not know what you told him, or made him believe, but you have poisoned his mind. He believes that the Chronoton Detonator is the answer to his problem. He believes that we are no longer his friends because you made him think so."

"Smarter than you look."

"Do not think me weak or stupid. I possess neither of those qualities. Now, what will you do if I release you?"

"I'll help you," Slade said. "I told Dick that I'd help him, and if that means helping you then fine."

"How can I trust you?"

"How can you trust anyone at the moment?" Slade massaged his throat. "I don't have a choice. You don't have a choice. I didn't ask him to trigger the Chronoton Detonator. That was his own doing."

She threw him back onto the ground. "I do not trust you and I will not enlist your aid."

Even in her anger she could see how Dick had become what he was. This man was deceitful, and capable of manipulating emotions. Jail time was not enough for what this man had done. All of the built-up righteous fury swelled up inside her, and she allowed Slade's every word to make her starbolts hotter.

Someone screamed. Starfire spun around, forgetting about Slade for a moment. Bane hovered over Dick's crumpled figure, barely registering the fact that Cyborg was trying to attack him.

"Do you see that?" Slade asked. "That's Dick getting his ass kicked. I told him he would, but he doesn't listen to anyone."

"I do not need your commentary, Slade."

"Lighten up, princess. I'm only trying to diffuse the tension. Bane came after me," Slade said, "Aside from Wayne I'm the only one who can defeat him. I'll go after him."

"What?"

"You came to extract Dick from Gotham and to help clean up the fallout, right? Leave Bane to me. I know one or two people who'd like his head."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Isn't that the question of the day?" Slade shrugged. "You can't work with someone for so many years without learning to care about them. I don't want Dick to die just as much as you do."

Slade went quiet for a moment, as though he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. After a moment Starfire let him go. "If you stop him from using the Chronoton Detonator, then I will not kill you."

"Fair trade. I suppose I can't get a get-out-of-jail-free card while I'm at it?"

Starfire looked at him blankly. "I do not see what a board game has to do with the situation."

"Right. Let's shut that thing down."

Slade bolted towards the warehouse. For a moment Stafire wondered if she could fly at all, given her emotional state, but the thought of Dick coming home filled her with joy. She followed Slade warily, unsure that they would shut down the device in town.

**-BB-**

He descended to Batgirl and Robin as a hawk, transforming back to himself as he hit the ground. They had been pulled back just far enough not to get involved, near the edge of the wooden pier. Really, now, if they wanted to break free of the Sladebots they could.

"Move over, gentlemen," Beast Boy said, pushing the Sladebots out of the way. "I got this covered."

Robin shoved his Sladebot away. "We have to go back there! We're supposed to help him!"

"Look, guys, I don't make the rules here," Beast Boy said. "The Titans are here to take over."

"Bane and Slade are here. How is that better?"

Beast Boy's ears drooped slightly as he turned to look at Starfire battling Slade. Was Slade some sort of zombie or something? After everyone made such a big deal about Slade being dead and all the guy just pops out of nowhere? Freaky.

"According to the higher-ups you're supposed to go to the Watch Tower," Beast Boy said.

"That's _your_ friend out there!" Stephanie stepped in front of Beast Boy and jabbed a finger in his chest. "You guys don't have any experience fighting Bane. He's no ordinary Gotham grunt. Even with your powers he will annihilate you."

"What do you want me to do?" Beast Boy asked. "You guys have been fighting all night. We're ready to kick butt!"

"We're not leaving," Robin said. "You know that."

"I'd let ya fight, in all honesty," Beast Boy replied. "It's your fight as much as ours. But with the Chronoton Detonator and all—"

"Wait, what?"

Yikes. Beast Boy smiled uneasily. Well, no use now. "You haven't heard, then? Batman thought it would be a good idea to ransack one of Slade's old safe houses, take his Chronoton Detonator and set it to go off here in about five minutes. So I can't waste any more time chitchatting. You get me?"

He looked at the time on his communicator. Shoot. They really didn't have much time. He transformed into a T-Rex. He had to help them, somehow. Batgirl and Robin stepped back as Beast Boy charged forward into the fray.

**-DG-**

Raven and Dick made their way across the pavement towards the T-Car. He allowed himself to lean against Raven. He was tired, even if he didn't want to admit it.

"You can't carry me even with your magic, can you?" Dick asked.

"You still want to fight?"

"I don't quit."

Raven let out an exasperated sigh. "I'd prefer to focus on one thing at a time, and right now I need to stabilize your broken ribs before you suffer internal bleeding. Are you trying to die?"

Dick's mouth felt dry and his fingers shook slightly as he looked away from her. "Sometimes I wish I would. Even now. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Raven replied. "Just keep going for all our sakes."

"NO!" Cold fear trickled down Dick's back as he realized that Bane was hurtling towards them. "Don't run away from me, boy!"

Moving along with Raven to dodge Bane took a lot of energy he didn't have. Raven threw up a hand and blacked Bane's fist with a shield of black magic. "I can't keep this up for long."

"Then don't."

It took one push to break away from Raven, who twisted away as Bane barreled between them. A choking sound cut through the air as Bane grabbed her cape and yanked it backwards. A terrific roar cracked the air as Beast Boy towered above them. He snapped at Bane, who grabbed Beast Boy's jaws and pushed him away. He then threw an uppercut right at the base of the dinosaur's throat, knocking the wind right out of him. Beast Boy unconsciously transformed back into a human, wheezing as he massaged his throat.

The Titans fighting Bane were scattered across the pavement. Sparks shot out of Cyborg's arm, courtesy of Bane messing with Cyborg's circuits during a fistfight. Cyborg was assessing the damage done to his system, his robotic eye glowing in the dark. Raven rubbed her head, which was now bleeding. Bane snorted, cracked his knuckles and folded his arms over his chest. Dick was closest to Bane, though he barely had the strength to lift his head.

"Children," Bane said. "Wayne sent more children to reinforce him. Coward."

After everything they had seen and done, Dick could not be certain if they were children anymore. He, of all people, was certainly not a child any longer.

"Titans…" The word sounded strange in his mouth. Even though he had said their name a thousand times before, he hadn't addressed them properly. As though he was afraid to acknowledge them, acknowledge that despite everything, despite his failure, they were still Titans together. "Stand back."

He still had enough energy to do one last thing. The clock on his wrist bleeped. Dick broke into a run, brushing Cyborg roughly aside as he charged at Bane. He only had one shot at this, and despite his pain he wouldn't miss it for the world.

Bane's eyes widened slightly, as though he hadn't expected Dick to charge at him again, but then he smirked. "Bring it on, boy. You want to be Batman? I will break you!"

"Not if I break you first!"

A great sound broke open the sky. Light shimmered all around them as the starlight locked itself in time. All Dick had to do was push Bane into the bubble before the villain realized what was happening. Blood pounded through his ears, drowning out the sudden cries from everyone around him. People screamed into the ear pieces; even Slade said something in the cacophony. As Dick ran he dropped several pellets behind him, which scattered into the darkness.

Bane smirked as he caught Dick by the throat. "Another mistake."

The timed pellets went off, breaking the pavement apart. Bane stumbled backwards, still clutching Dick by the neck, surprised by the explosions.

"You want to destroy Batman?" Dick screamed. "Then destroy me!"

The pain didn't matter anymore. As they fell towards the time bubble time passed by in slow waves, the stars disappeared as a total darkness wiped them out. An eerie cold crept over him, but he didn't care. For a brief moment Dick wondered what life would be like trapped in time. Everyone would be mad at him. But this was for the best. With his back broken, Bruce couldn't go back to being Batman. After everything that Dick had gone through, he couldn't go back to being a hero. This way, Batman would sacrifice himself for the greater good, and then no one would ask any more questions as to why Batman had disappeared. This way, Dick could forget everything, and end his suffering for good.

 _"STOP!"_ Raven shouted.

And, to Dick's great surprise, time paused in a whirlwind of darkness.


	25. The End of Eternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late. Will be uploading the rest of Eastern Sky and this story over the weekend. Enjoy!

Time stopped completely.

Dick doubted himself as he breathed again. He blinked once, twice, and a third time as he looked around. The world had stopped, certainly, but he could move his limbs. His entire body still hurt, and every breath shook him, so he was certain that he had not died.

He looked around and saw everyone surrounding him, all rushing to save him from a fate they could not control. Anguish coated their faces, and as he walked among the frozen statues he was struck by the notion that he had caused this. They were worried about him. And what did he do? Throw himself into the time bubble, never to return.

"Dick."

Dick turned around. The only other person not trapped in time, and the author of this crime, stood beside him. Raven had her hood down. She looked immensely tired, more tired than he had ever seen her before.

"Did you do this?" Dick asked.

"I have the ability to."

"But…how…"

"There's a lot you missed while you were gone."

Dick poked Bane's shoulder. The villain didn't move. "I didn't know you were so powerful."

It was always the quiet ones who were the most dangerous. Dick should have realized it from the moment he met Raven. He always knew that she was powerful, and that she hiding something dark and mysterious from the rest of the team. But he had trusted her. He had always trusted her.

"That doesn't matter. You haven't had time to stop and think about what's going on," Raven said. "What you're doing to yourself. Did you plan this all along? Jumping into the time bubble with Bane? Or Slade? Or whoever was chasing you?"

"I was prepared to if all else failed."

"But you didn't make that happen. You didn't try to change anything, even when Wayne asked you to."

Dick looked all around him. If Dick hadn't done what he did, then he wouldn't have been able to stop Bane from hurting people. "It wouldn't have made any difference."

"Don't tell me that everything's hopeless!" Raven snapped. "I know that you suffered. I know that it was hard, and that I can't possibly understand your suffering now. I know that you're hurting and you can't express it in a way that doesn't hurt someone. But we all had difficult things to deal with while you were away, and it's changed us. I understand your suffering, your anger, your hopelessness. I really do. I can feel your emotions oozing out of you." Dick looked away from her. He didn't know what to say, so he was just going to let Raven talk. It was easier to listen than to defend himself. "But while you were away we had to deal with the end of the world. I can stop time because I've done it once before. And do you know what? I could do it because of my demon father.

"I hate my father, but that doesn't make my powers go away," Raven said. "Now I've used my demon powers to stop time to save you. I may have gotten the skills from one of the universe's most evil beings, but that doesn't stop me from using those powers to help you. The skills you learned with Slade are a part of you now, and you can use them for good too. I can't keep this up forever, so I hope that I can convince you to stop what you're doing before my time runs out." Raven took out her communicator, which had been updated since he handed them out. She opened the photo gallery and scrolled through the pictures. "I want you to look at these pictures."

Dick took the communicator from her. He looked through the pictures, which were of the Titans as well as other young heroes he didn't recognize.

"Do you know who these are?" Raven asked.

"They must be the honorary Titans," Dick replied. "I know of them."

"Starfire may have brought us together, but you were our leader." Raven placed a hand on his shoulder. "If it wasn't for you, then the Titans wouldn't have gotten together. Even when you left we stayed together. We had a purpose: to get you out. We accumulated friends, who supported us and filled in for us when we were looking for you. You matter, Dick. Please stay alive."

Was there any way he could stop this? He hadn't expected time to stop like this.

"Where's the Chronoton Detonator?" Raven asked. "I'll take you there."

"At…at Slade's old warehouse," Dick replied.

Raven enveloped both of them in a cocoon of darkness. They flew through the silent streets, past the frozen statues of Gotham's villains battling it out with Catwoman. The warehouse was empty when they arrived, and their footsteps hardly made a sound as they made their way to the Chronoton Detonator.

In any other circumstance the Chronoton Detonator would still be running, even if time had stopped here. But Raven's magic had stopped the machine as well.

"This is your only chance to stop this," Raven said. "Disable the Chronoton Detonator."

"This is too easy," Dick said. "Nothing is ever this easy. I can stop the detonator like this…it shouldn't…"

Raven closed a hand over his. "Just because I stopped time and we can stop the detonator doesn't mean that it's going to be over. Don't be afraid of what happens after."

Together they walked towards the Chronoton Detonator, which hadn't even been set off yet. A quick look at the timer told him that, had Raven acted a second too late, Dick would have been trapped in time with Bane.

Dick opened the panel to access the control panel.

This thing, this freaking thing, was the root of all his problems. Slade had taunted him with the Chronoton detonator, but the guy had never actually set it off. Slade had kept his promise and never locked Jump City in a time bubble. But Dick, who had sworn to protect people, was the one who had made the Chronoton detonator go off. He had become the very thing he swore he wouldn't become.

He felt disgusted with himself.

Dick snipped a few wires and managed the controls. There. It was finished.

"That was a lot easier than when Cyborg tried to disarm it," Raven said, smiling. "Even if it was fake."

Dick clenched the dead wire in his fists.

Raven took his hand and squeezed it gently. "This will end. Come on, let's finish this together."

She warped them back to the warehouse. As her darkness dissipated Dick got a fresh look at the situation. He saw how it was nearly dawn and how everyone who had been sprinting towards him were going to collide into the time bubble, or what they thought was the time bubble.

An idea hit him.

In his increasing anxiety he hadn't been thinking clearly. By stopping time Raven had given him a chance to think about the situation without hearing anyone criticize him. "When we get back to the present I want you to take out Bane's venom." Dick pointed with his other hand. "It's on his back. Since Slade is here I'll have to work with him."

"Why—"

"Unfortunately, I've been trained to work with him. We can defeat Bane together. I know this. I don't remember how to work with you guys. I'm sorry." He looked at her, amazed that they could still call each other friends after all that had happened. "There's something else I want you to do."

He told her the rest of his plan. Taking out Bane's venom wasn't going to cut it, and with Raven's powers he could do so much more than he ever could by himself. Dick hadn't even realized it until now.

"I don't even know if I can do that—" Raven started.

"It doesn't matter if you can. It just needs to be enough."

"But—"

"I'll be fine. Believe me, this will work."

The answer seemed so simple that it was a wonder he hadn't thought of it before. The Titans could have come up with it on their own, but Dick knew Bane. The answer came more easily to him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to beat Bane in hand-to-hand combat, yet he had believed that a whole group of Titans could without ever having fought Bane before.

Slade would have had him analyze Bane's weaknesses and take him down in a fight. Men like Slade and Bane were made of brawn, and even when weakened could afford to do that. Dick could not, because he wasn't strong.

But Raven was right: alone, he may not be strong, but together they were a force to be reckoned with. Together they took a deep breath, and time resumed in a whirlwind.

* * *

 

Raven shielded Dick from Bane's incoming fist with a shield of magic. Instead of cowering behind Raven's dark shield he ducked down and tried to sweep Bane's feet from under him. Slade, who had been lunging at them, stumbled as he tried to avoid a non-existent time bubble.

Instead of trying to use the terrain to only his advantage, Dick glanced around and assessed the Titans. Beast Boy, who had been flying at him as a hawk, screeched and flapped his wings, feathers flying everywhere as he stopped. Cyborg run drunkenly into the fray while Starfire stopped mid-flight, their sense of time clearly off by several seconds. They needed a strategy. How they got things done over the years without him…

"What the hell…?" Slade looked around, unsure what had just happened. "Time was supposed to stop."

"Well, you're supposed to be _dead_ ," Dick said. "Shut up and help me."

All of the events of the past two weeks caught up to him, but he didn't care. He accepted what had happened. There was nothing else he could do except allow a dead calm to sweep over him.

Slade straightened, and even with his mask on Dick could tell that he was surprised.

"I thought—"

 _"Don't argue!"_ Dick exclaimed.

Even with his renewed energy he still felt weak. Slade was going to have to do most of the fighting now. If Slade insisted on helping him, then he was going to keep Bane distracted. Just standing up drained away his remaining energy.

Together they attacked Bane, and all the while they didn't utter a word. Their attack was quick and efficient. Slade led the attack while Dick provided the backup, and for once Dick didn't mind that Slade was, momentarily, in charge. Slade was fast, but Bane was quicker. With his fighting partner wounded, Slade didn't have much of an advantage over Bane. But that didn't matter. Dick just needed to use Slade as a distraction.

"Raven!" Dick yelled. "Do it!"

Raven lashed out with a yell, her dark eyes glowing as she whipped her magic around and sliced away Bane's venom supply.

"What?"

The venom gushed like a fountain, splattering Dick with the stuff as he ducked. He spat away the venom that made it into his mouth.

"Titans, stand back!" Dick shouted. "Raven, now!"

Raven's cape fluttered open as she cast her last spell for the night. The temperature dropped, leaving Dick shivering in his Bat-suit. Debris rustled all around them as the wind picked up around her. Trails of black light swirled all around her, pulsing with energy as they massed for an attack that Bane's fists couldn't block. The air crackled with energy and made the hairs on the back of Dick's neck stand up.

It was a wonder that Slade could have ever defeated the Titans with someone this powerful on the team.

_"Azarath Metrion Zinthos!"_

The blasting wind nearly knocked Dick off his feet as the light darted at Bane, enveloping him as he cried out. Bane stopped mid-strike, his eyes growing wide as he clutched at his throat while a dark liquid seeped out of Bane's mouth.

 _It worked,_ Dick thought. _It actually worked._

Bane's venom was a poison, even if it temporarily made him stronger. All of Bane's enemies knew this, but Jackal cutting Bane's venom supply just wasn't enough. Taking it away only made Bane angry and, if it were possible, more conniving.

Raven's fingers clenched into fists as she drew out the poison with her magic, her arms pulling back and muscles tightening. In that moment it seemed as if the world had stopped again, as everyone stood there, watching Raven's actions in disbelief.

She waved her arms as tendrils of darkness swirled around Bane. The venom flowed out of his nose and mouth, and Bane had to rip away his mask so he could breathe. Spheres of liquid—the venom—floated through the air and dropped onto the concrete.

He craved a cigarette.

Cyborg caught Raven as she fell backwards. She looked so small in his arms, so weak and fragile as Dick felt. But Raven didn't spend the last of her energy for nothing. Dick couldn't dwell on her until this was over.

"Starfire!" Dick called out. "Hit his back!"

Starfire shot several starbolts at Bane, who skidded and rolled away, her starbolts burning his venom pack. Beast Boy's dinosaur tail slammed Bane back to the ground as he tried to get up. Bane rolled to his feet, but he wobbled. He flexed his fingers, unsure of himself.

"What did you do?" Bane asked.

"Healed you," Raven said wearily. "My healing skills only go so far, but it was enough to get the venom out."

Bane lumbered forward, legs shaking, and then collapsed. Sweat poured out on his forehead. His muscles twitched, as though they didn't know what to do now that the venom wasn't flowing through his veins.

"You've lived with the venom for so long that you can't live without it," Dick said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "You think it makes you strong, but it only weakens you."

If he hadn't been dizzy before, then he was now. In the dim morning light he saw Batgirl and Robin standing on the warehouse rooftop, their jaws dropped open in astonishment.

Just because Bane was now suffering from withdrawals didn't mean that he wasn't dangerous. He was like a live wire, lumbering around as the last of the venom was flushed out of his body. Dick stepped forward and slammed a fist into Bane's face.

Bane did not get up for a long while, and when he did he clearly struggled to his knees. Before he could move Beast Boy transformed into a gigantic snake and curled around Bane.

"You're finished, Bane," Dick said quietly.

"I don't care," Bane spat. "I've already won. The Bat's back is broken, and so is his sorry excuse of a family. I can see it."

Bane looked right at Dick.

"I've seen true brokenness, and this isn't it," Dick said. "You'll never win. In fact, I should be thanking you, Bane. Your actions have only strengthened us."

If Bane hadn't spurred Dick into action alongside Jackal, then nothing would have happened. They had allowed Dick an inadvertent opportunity to break away from Slade.

"You're just children," Bane said.

"Never underestimate mere children," Dick said. "Mere children have defeated you." Dick held out a hand. "You're going through severe withdrawals. We can help you, get you to a hospital—"

"Never!"

"Then you're going to prison, Bane, where they won't give you anything," Dick said. "Looking at your condition, I'd say that you'll die within days if you don't get any venom."

The villain grumbled incoherently.

Dick would owe Slade one for covering his butt, that was for sure, and that someday he would exploit that. Dick knew it because Slade hated owing people favors as well. It was one of the many qualities they shared.

"Robin, Batgirl, please contact Commissioner Gordon. Tell him that Bane is under control, and to pick him up as soon as possible."

The two leaped off the rooftop and into the morning light. Bane seemed to be struggling not against Beast Boy, but against his ensuing illness. Beast Boy unfurled and transformed back into himself.

"Yowch! He's burning up!" Beast Boy exclaimed. "I think he has a fever. Ugh, don't want to catch that."

"That's his own fault," Dick said, though he felt he had a fever coming on as well. Even though Raven's spell had ended and the temperature went back up, he was still shivering.

"That was quite the inspirational speech, Bats," Slade said.

Everyone spun around. In the chaos they had quite forgotten that Slade was there. Slade stood there with his mask off, as it had been torn in the fight with Bane. Beast Boy transformed back into a T-Rex and screamed directly into Slade's smug face. Bits of dinosaur saliva splattered Slade's face, though the man hardly blinked.

"Hm, nice breath, tofu."

"OK, wait, I thought you said that you killed Slade," Cyborg said. "So what's he doing here?"

"I did murder him," Dick said. "It's not worth it, and not because he can come back to life. Don't arrest him."

"Are you CRAZY?" Beast Boy exclaimed. "He's right there! We can do it!"

"I owe him a favor."

Beast Boy slammed a palm against his forehead, muttering something incoherent.

"So glad you have some semblance of sanity left," Slade said.

"I wasn't finished." Dick pointed a finger at Slade. "I owe you a favor, and this is it: get out now. You helped me, so I won't let my friends arrest you."

He was too tired to deal with this. Slade shrugged. "Fair enough. Your princess here told me just as much."

Starfire's eyes hadn't stopped glowing, even when the fight had ended. From what Dick understood about her powers, she was still bubbling with righteous fury. She shot two starbolts at Slade's feet, causing the villain to stumble back.

"I'll be off, as I promised," Slade said, holding up his hands. "We'll talk later, after we both take care of some unfinished business."

While Dick's first inclination was to spit something back at Slade (and he very much wished to) he did nothing of the sort. It was curious, how Slade wasn't out to get him. Maybe dying had done something to him. Maybe he felt that he could show a little emotion. Maybe Slade had learned something from all of this, and maybe Dick had as well. For despite all the pain he had suffered, this end to their relationship felt more complete than it had with a bullet to the head.

"Fine." Dick ignored the Titans' ensuing comments. They meant well, but they didn't understand that Dick and Slade had to talk again.

There were so many questions Dick wanted to ask Slade. Why did Slade risk his neck and come all the way out here to rescue him? Even if Slade said that he wanted to hunt down Bane because of money, it didn't benefit him at all. Slade had even worked with the Titans to help bring down Bane. Even after working with him for five years Dick still didn't know him.

These were questions that Dick would have to ask later, when he wasn't injured and away from the Titans, who were shielding him from Slade. This still wasn't over. Not until he and Slade really cleared things up.

Slade turned and walked away.

"Don't go after him," Dick said. "He has nothing to go back to. I made sure of that."

"But he's still in Gotham," Cyborg said. "What if he hurts you? Or us?"

"Jackal's in town," Dick said. "I'm pretty sure he'll deal with that first."

Adeline Kane and her son had dealt with Jackal. With Dick out of the picture, Slade would probably take the time to take revenge. It wasn't often that his enemies were vulnerable, and it would give him an opportunity to talk with his family. Maybe work out a real will that didn't leave Adeline half of Slade's blood money.

Besides, it would take him some time to accept that Dick had killed him. No matter what Slade had said, Dick was certain that Slade still wasn't over that.

But, for now, this was over.

He collapsed again, and this time he refused to stand up. Dick had already pushed himself past his limits. It would be a miracle if he managed to get back on his feet within a week. He heard the sound of sirens in the distance and wondered if Commissioner Gordon had sent an ambulance after him. Goosebumps crawled all over his flesh, and his ears felt all plugged up.

Starfire caught him and held him gently. He rested his head against her chest, her wild long hair falling over his shoulders. In his pained haze he remembered how she had been a veritable girl on fire with her glowing eyes and her starbolts. As he fell into a fevered daze he wondered if her starbolts were enough to warm him in this cool, cool morning.


	26. Exhaustion

"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand... there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold."

Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

* * *

 

Chapter 25: Exhaustion

When Dick awoke he found himself back in his bedroom in Wayne Manor, which had been converted in a makeshift infirmary. Sunlight streamed on him from the window on his right. One of the first things he became aware of was how tired he felt. The second thing he became aware of was a desperate need for a cigarette.

He coughed, and his whole stomach hurt. Someone had replaced his old bed with a hospital bed, and had elevated it so that he was sitting up. Pain stabbed through him as he tried to sit up straighter, and his world felt muddy. Despite this, he felt around for wounds, trying to access his condition.

Leslie had been here, and she had obviously taken care of him when he was unconscious. Several tubes ran underneath his shirt, some of them wires monitoring his vital signs. Unlike last time, he didn't care about the machines keeping him alive. For once, he was glad that an actual doctor was taking care of him.

He looked to the side and found a picture frame resting on the nightstand. Dick picked it up and looked at it. It was one of those digital picture frames that changed every few from the past five years started playing as a slideshow. Not only pictures of the Titans, but pictures from Gotham as well. Everyone had donated pictures. Starfire forcing Raven to try on a sundress at the mall. Beast Boy trying to change into a Pokémon. Cyborg coaching a football team full of kids with prosthetic limbs. Tim Drake winning some award. Dick stared at the frame and took it all in as best as he could, still trying to understand just how much he had missed while he was away.

"Do you like it?"

Bruce wheeled into the room, and the noise caused Dick to look up from the picture frame.

"Yeah, I do."

"I had the Titans assemble it for you. I even put some in. See—" he pointed to the new picture that popped up on screen. "That's me and Tim. Alfred and I went to his high school graduation. We gave him a scholarship to help pay for his college application fees. Now he has a real scholarship."

Dick set the picture frame back on the nightstand. The world had been dark and bleak for so long that it was good to see that there was still some happiness in the world. "Thank you. How long have I been out?"

"For a while. You've been in and out of it."

"What happened to me?"

"Well, first we had to get your fever under control after we got you here. You also broke a couple of ribs during your fight with Bane. Multiple contusions, a concussion, you got beat up pretty good. You won't be able to be on your feet for a few weeks."

"I probably look pretty bad. I feel like a train ran me over."

Breathing was difficult. He felt his face and noticed a tube up his nose, and he was once again on an IV drip. A thick neck brace was wrapped around his neck. He saw the world through a slight haze, and after a moment he realized that he was on a painkiller. Even if he had wanted to get up and hobble away, he couldn't.

But he didn't want to leave, at least not until the painkiller wore off. He was too tired to ask anyone to leave, and maybe he didn't want anyone to leave him alone just yet.

"I know you said you didn't want to see anyone after this was over, but I had to see you hoping you'd change your mind. Because you…" Bruce spluttered. "You did it, Dick. You saved Gotham."

Tears rolled down Bruce's face.

In his drug-induced haze, Dick thought that at first he might still be dreaming. From what he remembered, Bruce never cried. Sure, he experienced great emotion, but Dick had never seen Bruce break down completely.

Dick could barely sit up, let alone do anything to embrace Bruce. He reached out and clasped Bruce's hand. "I didn't do anything, Bruce. The Titans saved Gotham. If I didn't have help, then I'd be dead."

"I know you said that you didn't want to see me or anyone afterwards, but please reconsider."

Dick remembered shouting at Bruce about how he didn't want to see anyone after defeating Bane. How he didn't want anyone getting close to him again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Is it what you want?"

It really had been a long time since anyone had asked what he wanted. "I don't know what I want."

"It's okay that you don't know. While you figure out what you want to do, please stay here."

Dick looked out the window and saw the Titans outside on the grounds. He had yelled at Bruce, had told only him that after Bane was defeated he didn't want to see them. "They don't know that I don't want to stay here or in Jump."

"They would understand."

"I'm sorry I said it—"

"None of that matters, Dick. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to become Batman. I shouldn't have made you put yourself in danger, especially when you said no." Bruce's shoulders started shaking. "I don't know what came over me. I'm so sorry. That was the worst decision I've ever made."

"If you weren't going to save Gotham, then who else would have?" Dick reached out and touched Bruce's shoulder. "It's true, I didn't want to do it. I was right: going out there when I was already unstable didn't help anyone. But going out there forced the Titans to react. I think that if I hadn't gone, I would have never seen them again."

"I'm no better than Slade," Bruce said. "Making you do what I wanted—"

"No one will ever be worse than Slade," Dick snapped. "But thank you for saying it."

"You shouldn't forgive me for that. Alfred was right: it was unforgivable. It was cruel."

"Please, don't worry about it. I agreed too easily."

"Easily?"

"Yes. I should've said no. I should've called the Titans."

"I agree. Will you stay?"

"Until I get better. Then I think I'll leave."

"Do you want me to contact Mr. Haley for you?"

"No, that's all right."

"Do you want to be alone?"

"I don't know." Dick thought briefly. "Being alone hasn't done me any good so far."

If the Titans hadn't gone after him, then Dick wouldn't have been able to defeat Bane.

"Well, we're all going to be here for you," Bruce said. "The Titans want to stay for a week or so, just to help us clean up Gotham."

"Ok." Dick looked at Bruce. "A lot happened in forty-eight hours. I need time to process it all. I'd like some time for myself."

"I understand. I'll be downstairs if you need anything. You have a call button."

"Ok."

Dick was glad that Bruce was leaving him alone for a while. He didn't feel like talking, and even if he wanted to talk there was nothing to talk about.

All of the villains breaking out of Arkham. Bane. Slade coming back from the dead. His situation had changed so swiftly that he didn't know what to do. So Dick did the only thing he could do, and slept.

* * *

 

By the time Bruce wheeled back downstairs the Titans had gotten back from patrol. They sat in the living room, completely exhausted and sprawled all over his nice couches. The only one standing was Cyborg, who stood up when Bruce entered the room.

"How is everything?" Bruce asked.

"Things could be better, but the Arkham villains are under control."

"Thank you for everything," Bruce said.

"You should have asked us in the first place, or the Titans East at least."

"I know. You're capable, I know that." Even though the Titans were all adults now, Bruce still thought of them as teenagers. One of the disadvantages of getting old, he supposed. He couldn't let go of the past quite as easily as he used to. "Things were just happening so fast I didn't know what to do."

"Is Dick OK?" Beast Boy asked. "He didn't look so good—"

"His fever broke last night," Bruce replied. "He won't be able to move for a while, and that's going to frustrate him. So if you can stay longer, then I think that would help him."

Being in a wheelchair frustrated Bruce, but he was learning to live with it. If anything, Bruce only wished that he was on his feet long enough to protect Dick from Bane.

He didn't tell the Titans what Dick had shouted at him, about not wanting to see the Titans after Bane was defeated. Bruce had a sneaking suspicion that Dick didn't mean it, and their presence would help him regardless of his decision.

"He wants to see Slade again, you know," Cyborg said. "He said that he had unfinished business with him."

"There will always be unfinished business between those two." Bruce sighed heavily. "He's twenty-one. Once he's recovered I can't make him do anything. He's already proven that if he wants to do something, then he'll do it."

Bruce had reviewed the video footage from the last fight with Bane and spoke with the Titans. Slade had definitely come back to protect Dick. As crazy as this all was, maybe Slade did have some twisted good in him. "I'll talk with him about that, though. I don't want him near Slade, but if Dick feels that he needs to wrap things up, then I'll help him do that."

_And by that I mean get someone to help him take Slade down._

Gruff and laconic as Bruce may be, he once again felt that he didn't deserve the help he had received from the Titans after forcing Dick to become Batman. There was nothing romantic about it, something that didn't have to happen, something that would haunt Bruce forever. He was certain that the Titans were silently judging him for it, but were too nice to say anything.

"There is nothing I can possibly do to repay you for your assistance," Bruce said.

"Sure there is," Raven said. "Take care of Dick when we're not here. He doesn't just need us, he needs you too."

Their communicators bleeped.

"Oh man, are you kidding me?" Beast Boy asked, letting his head fall back on the couch. "We just got back!"

"Come on, BB, get off your lazy butt!" Cyborg shoved him off the couch. "Titans, go!"

It took a few seconds for the Titans to re-assemble themselves, but when they did they flew out the door. As the door closed, and he heard the T-Car rumble away, Bruce allowed himself a small smile.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Bruce was in this wheelchair now. Even with everything that happened, he no longer had an excuse to leave Dick home alone anymore. Maybe it was ten years too late, but it was an improvement.

The Titans were the next generation of heroes, and eventually he had to let them and others take his place. He couldn't be Batman forever. He had become irritated with the Titans when they first started because they were children. Batman began because Bruce didn't want problems for the next generation, and seeing them fight forced him to work harder. But they would continue the good fight, and perhaps inspiring them to do so was enough.

Once Dick awoke people were constantly at his side. Someone was always with him, although they disguised their presence with meals or things he needed to do. Alfred was with him most of the time, though he too said nothing. He asked Dick if he wanted anything, and then set up a chair to read a book. Beast Boy, assuming the form of a kitten, sat curled up at the end of his bed. He never said anything, and quietly left when Dick wasn't paying attention, so light that Dick didn't even notice that the weight was gone.

Slowly, as Dick's health improved, he realized that everyone else had agreed that someone always had to be with him. It was their constant presence, more than anything, that made him realize a deep, dark thought.

_I wanted to die._

Dick stared at the ceiling. He hadn't even thought about it, had not verbalized these dangerous thoughts before now. Not until Raven had mentioned did he realize that, yes, that was exactly how he felt. First he stole cigarettes, and then all those times he had gone on missions with Slade…he had felt those impulses: throwing himself in front of a bomb to save a child, considering jumping from the Belfry without his hookshot, willing to throw himself in a time bubble with Bane…

If things had gone the way Dick had planned, he wouldn't have survived.

He couldn't move much, and mostly slept. With so much idle time, he couldn't help but think about Slade. Where he was and what he was doing. During his waking moments he felt a great weight lifted—and felt another settle on his shoulders.

He had exchanged one weight for another. Slade was gone, and his absence had left a weight greater than anything Dick had experienced before. He no longer had to answer to him, no longer had to fight for him, no longer had to worry about him. But now an even greater weight rested upon his chest, and it was that of learning how to cope with everything that had happened to him. Before he had suppressed any emotion he did feel for his own safety, and he had learned to ignore everything. Now he couldn't ignore it, and if he continued to do so his own health would suffer.

He wasn't his usual self, and he knew it. He had never said out loud that he had wanted to die because he didn't know it himself, but everyone else knew it by his actions. They had realized it before he had, and for that he was grateful.

* * *

 

Slade was surprised to see Adeline waiting for him as he approached the warehouse just outside of Gotham. She leaned against her car, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Are you here to stop me?" Slade asked.

"No." Adeline stepped around and popped open the car trunk. "I'm here to give you something."

Slade peered into the trunk. Jackal lay there, his arms and legs tied together. Adeline's fingers tapped impatiently against her car.

"I didn't think you'd approve," Slade said. "Least of all help me."

"I don't care. This needs to end." Adeline's nose wrinkled with disgust. "He threatened my family again. He needs to be eliminated."

"Then let's get him inside before anyone notices."

Slade grabbed Jackal and dragged him out of the car. Was this right? Not at all. This wasn't a straight-up contract; they were committing murder.

Killing Jackal wasn't going to make everything better. In a way, Slade had to thank Dick: without all of this brouhaha, Slade would have never gotten the chance to get his revenge.

Slade dragged Jackal into the warehouse, which had already been prepared a few hours before, Adeline following closely at his heels. He dumped Jackal onto the floor covered with plastic.

"I'm not giving you permission to murder, if that's what you're thinking," Adeline said. "If killing Jackal will bring you some peace of mind, then do it. He's a terrorist who needs to be stopped anyway."

"Why do you care?" Slade turned to face her. "You don't have to see this."

"I just want to be sure that this is it."

"What do you mean by that?"

Adeline looked at him. "I still can't believe what you've done. I don't understand why you felt the need to terrorize children."

"I told you that I cared about him."

"Cared about him. How could you have when you didn't even care about your own son? Did you think he was crippled? You never bothered to work with him, never bothered to learn sign language, never bothered to communicate with him. Was it just easier to find someone else who was more _perfect?"_

"I'm not going to answer that," Slade replied. "Anything I say won't be good enough for you. Nothing I ever did was good enough for you."

"I don't care if it's not good enough for me. I don't matter, but the children do."

"I did what was best for all of them."

"If you go after that boy again I will kill you," Adeline said. "Don't impose your suffering on others."

"Whoever said that I was?"

Adeline huffed. "Just shoot him."

Slade took out a gun and motioned for Adeline to do the same. "You want him dead as much as I do."

"I'd like to say that he ripped our family apart," Adeline said, taking her gun out. "But that won't be true. He's the reason I found out about you, but I won't ever forget that you're the real problem."

"Are you gonna shoot me after he's dead?"

"Maybe."

"Good luck with that. I'm Lazarus now, raised from the dead."

"Shut up."

Both of them raised their guns. Their shots echoed faintly, the noise deadening as the bullets ripped through Jackal's flesh. This retribution was cold, silent, and simple. His blood wouldn't wash away all of the rage Slade felt, all of the sorrow that this man had caused. Slade's problems lay deeper than Jackal, to a decision to work as a mercenary.

Perhaps an end to the apprenticeship was for the best. Slade no longer felt an urge to craft a schedule, a lesson plan, or figure out how to deal with an unruly teenager. Dick had his own life to live, and now that he was an adult there was nothing more he could teach him, not unless Dick wanted to be taught.

Slade would, to his own surprise, go on with his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end! 
> 
> I want to thank you all for reading again, and even though I don't reply to every comment I appreciate them all! I hope to upload the final chapters by tomorrow or Monday (le gasp). Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	27. The Circus

It took Dick a couple months to really get back on his feet, though he didn't remember much of that time. Most of his time was spent sleeping, eating, or doing something under the haze of painkillers.

The Titans visited Gotham often, and while he loved seeing them he afterwards felt drained. It was a strange feeling, as he remembered being so full of energy after interacting with them before.

Once he got back on his feet he knew what he had to do. He packed his things and left the Manor. Dick didn't tell anyone where he was going. It was only natural that he go to Mr. Haley's circus first, and after he had told Bruce in one of their fights he knew that Bruce would know. As he walked through the tent, which was cleaning out for the night. No one paid attention to him as they struck down the set, dismantling the auditorium and the tent poles. Looking up at the tent, with its faded stripes and its center ring, he felt that it seemed smaller than he remembered.

Mr. Haley was helping some of his guys pack up the equipment. It took him a few seconds to realize that Dick was standing there, and when he did he nearly dropped what he was holding.

"You're alive." The stillness in Mr. Haley's voice pained Dick. It was as if Mr. Haley had long ago accepted Dick's disappearance, long ago accepted the fact that Dick was dead or worse. "You look different. I thought I was seeing a ghost. You look so much like John."

It seemed strange to hear about his father. So much of Dick's recent thoughts had gone to Bruce, and of his increasing anxiety that something bad would happen to him, just as something bad had happened to John Grayson. His parents seemed distant and part of another life that no longer applied to him.

"I've been through a lot."

"I know. I'm glad you stopped by." Mr. Haley gestured for Dick to follow him. "You caught us just in time. We're leaving Gotham tomorrow morning. Want to chat in my office?"

Dick shrugged. As he walked through the circus tent he saw that some of the staff had left since he had left all those years ago. Those who remembered Dick greeted him, some enthusiastically, but most with that same shocked expression.

 _They know_ , Dick thought. _They know I'm a criminal._

He dismissed the thought. That kind of thinking would get him in trouble.

They arrived in Mr. Haley's office, which was nothing more than his trailer. He puttered around the small kitchen and offered snacks, which Dick declined.

"So what can I do for you, Dick?" Mr. Haley asked.

"I'm looking for a job, Mr. Haley," Dick said.

"Are you sure you want to work here? Don't you want a job in Wayne Enterprises?"

"No, not really."

"Like I said before, Dick, you're always welcome to join the acrobatic team. As I recall from your emails, you mentioned that you kept on your acrobatics after Wayne took you in. Teach those boneheads how to do a quadruple flip!"

"I'm out of practice." Not quite a lie, but close enough. "I haven't seen you guys in forever, and I really just need some time to clear my head. I'm fine working with the elephant trainer. I know it's dirty all the time."

"You're better than a pooper scooper."

"I don't care."

"I think you care very much." Mr. Haley gave Dick an awkward side hug. "You came to us for a reason, even if you don't know the reason yourself. At least do something that you enjoy."

Something he enjoyed? Dick didn't think he would find any joy on the trapezes anymore, but he could try.

"Are you sure, Dick?"

"I'm sure." Dick avoided Mr. Haley's gaze, uncomfortable with the pity evident on his face. "But I'm not a charity case. I want to work."

"I understand." Mr. Haley sighed heavily. "Does Wayne know?"

"He knows." Dick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Will you let me?"

"Of course. Anything for John and Mary's son." Mr. Haley pulled out a file, from which he withdrew some employment paperwork. "If you really want to, you can start tomorrow."

"Not like I have anything else to do."

As Dick signed the paperwork, he realized how, yet again, someone had connected him to someone else. If he had tried out being Deathstroke and Batman, then he should at least try out one more legacy: that of his parents. It was familiar territory, and maybe he could enjoy it.

* * *

 

Scooping up elephant poop wasn't unfamiliar territory. A lifetime ago he had helped the trainer clean up after a show, even though he had been too little to hoist the shovel more than a foot into the air. Built good character. That was what his dad had said.

Even though there were plenty of other jobs, Dick knew that this was the one he wanted to do. It was a challenging enough job that tired him out by the end of the day. There was something about the smell of the animal pens, the elephants' curiosity, and the way their rough skin felt under his hands that soothed him. This was something real and worthwhile. He kept this place clean, and even though he wasn't out in the center ring he was still important to the organization. Dick didn't have to kill anyone, or save anyone, to matter here.

After a while he got used to the smell, and he didn't mind being dirty so often. Some of the circus staff had changed, though there were still plenty who knew him.

What Dick wanted the most out of this was the ability to travel, which, as a circus, was easy to come by. Every few days the circus packed up and moved on. Oftentimes, on the overnight train ride to the next city, Dick would slip out of the passenger carriage and make sure the animals were all right.

He finished his tasks so quickly that he impressed the elephant trainer. Soon the trainer asked him to assist him in the shows, which Dick did for a time.

This, like all things, would not last. The circus was a dying act, and the original crew had disbanded upon his parents' deaths. Dick could see that. The circus didn't stop in as many towns, and he could see that Mr. Haley was making less money than usual. Or maybe Dick had never noticed it before as a child. Despite that, Mr. Haley paid Dick far more than he should have.

Everything about this: the trapezes, they were his parents' legacy. Everyone knew him as the Graysons' son. One of the few people in the world who could perform a quadruple flip. And yet, when one of the younger artists asked for a demonstration, Dick faltered midway through the jump, his hands slipping through his partner's fingers as he slammed into the safety net below. Mr. Haley, who had been watching, left the circus tent and didn't come back until the wee hours of the morning. .

When the train passed through the Midwest (somewhere in Illinois…Dick didn't really know) Mr. Haley made Dick stop with the elephant poop. It was beneath a Grayson, he argued, and he needed something else to occupy his time.

"Why don't you want to work with the trapeze artists?" Mr. Haley asked. "I bet you could get back into it, if you wanted to."

"You saw me. I can't do it anymore," Dick replied. "I haven't trained properly in years."

That bulky apprentice armor made it difficult to do anything, especially flips. He always felt weighted down by the metal and gadgets in his uniform, and he had stopped doing complicated flips a while ago. It was unnecessary.

"Was that by choice?"

"Well, no, not really."

"You came to us for a reason, Dick. If working on the trapezes doesn't make you happy, or it brings back bad memories, then don't. But I don't think you came to me to learn how to pick up elephant feces."

"I don't think I know what I came to do."

"That's OK if you don't know. Not everyone knows what they want to do at twenty-one, son."

"Not if your future has been made for you."

Mr. Haley looked at him curiously. "Does Wayne expect you to work for him or something?"

"Oh, he'd like that I'm sure." Dick shrugged. "Maybe I'll do that. I don't know."

He had been saying that an awful lot lately.

"I'm not sure this is the right place for you. Let me know how I can help you. Please."

It was unfair for Dick to place this burden on Mr. Haley, a man he hadn't seen in years. Mr. Haley shouldn't be dealing with him and his instability. It was a mistake to run away with the circus.

"I think at this point I can only help myself."

"Maybe that's what you think, Dick, but that's probably not true. I'm worried about you, Dick," Mr. Haley said. "You wanted a job with the circus, but you won't talk to any of us. You don't talk to anyone. When we stop in a city you go out and you don't tell anyone where you're going, and then you come back bedraggled the next morning." Mr. Haley held up a letter. "I know you don't want to hear this, but Wayne sent me a letter. He wants me to look after you."

Dick felt like he should be angry, but he didn't feel angry. Only indifferent. Bruce only meant the best, after all.

"Why won't you talk to us?" Mr. Haley asked. "We know something happened. We're not stupid."

"I know you're not," Dick said softly.

Slade could control a lot of things, but he couldn't control the chemistry inside the brain. He couldn't force happiness upon another person.

"If you want to stay with us you don't have to work," Mr. Haley said. "You're a Grayson. You're a guest."

"No, I don't want to be a burden. I want to help."

"You have friends in Jump City, don't you?"

"I guess so."

"When we get to Jump City I want you to go to them."

"Sure."

"Aren't you going to argue?"

"I'm just here and there, Mr. Haley." Dick shrugged. "Sooner or later I'll have to see them."

As he laid on one of the bunk beds in the overnight train, listening to the other trapeze artists snore amid the rumbling of the train, he wondered what would happen to him. He accepted his coworkers' invitation to keep training on the trapezes after caring for the elephants, even though he didn't want to. He felt like he had to, though he also felt that exercising would help him keep his mind off things.

His body felt too stiff, too laden with weariness to do anything else but lie down, and every time he climbed up the ladder he felt like falling into the safety net. He had lost the art.

* * *

 

Just as Mr. Haley promised, he dropped Dick off at the train station in Jump City. At the very least, Dick had money for a cab to take to the bay.

"You sure you have somewhere to stay?" Mr. Haley asked.

"I'm pretty sure."

"Take care of yourself." Mr. Haley gave him a hug. "And thanks for being with us."

"Thanks for taking me in."

"I would have done it for free." Mr. Haley squeezed his shoulder. "Call me when you get to your friends. When you're ready."

"I will."

Mr. Haley turned and hopped back on the train, leaving Dick alone at the train station.

At the last second Dick decided to walk to Titans Tower. He liked walking. The cool ocean breeze kissed his face as he stood on the beach, his bag slung over his shoulder, and looked at Titans Tower.

When they saw him, they opened the road to let him in. The honorary Titans—many of whom knew he was arriving—received him much more warmly than last time. They didn't look at him as warily as before, but they smiled and asked how he was.

These strangers in brightly-colored costumes blurred together, though he was certain that he would one day learn their names. Coming back here now, he noticed even more differences. Looked like the Titans did a better job doing the dishes. Maybe they realized that taking turns to do dishes was the worst thing ever, or maybe they cleaned before he got there.

"You look a lot better, man," Cyborg said, shaking his hand before giving him a hug. "Did you have a good trip?"

"A stinky one. I'd like to take a shower after I say hi to everyone."

"Fine, we'll have your room ready by the time you're done. I'll start the BBQ!"

Beast Boy bounded in as a Great Dane, jumping up to lick Dick's face. As Cyborg ambled away, Dick felt a shadow of his former life flutter back to him. He was glad to see the Titans.

"Cyborg's right: you look much better." Raven floated over to him. "It's good to see you."

"Where's Starfire?" Dick asked.

"Outside."

"I'd like to see her."

"She came out here to see you. You should go talk to her."

Dick looked at Raven, and in that moment he couldn't get the image of Raven and Starfire protecting him out of his mind. Even two months later it seemed inconceivable that they would help him.

"Yeah, I will." Dick turned right back around to go outside. "We'll meet everyone upstairs."

He didn't mind going back outside. It was a nice day. Dick took a moment to stand on the rocky shoreline, breathing in the salty air and enjoying the bay. Out here he couldn't hear any of the cars passing over the bridge. He took out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it.

Starfire eventually found her way to him. She was working outside in the garden again, as he suspected she would be.

"Good morning," Starfire said, floating to her feet. "You are feeling well?"

"Better."

"Why are you smoking?" Starfire asked. "I found you because I smelled something."

"Because I'm addicted to nicotine."

"Is it because of Slade?"

"Nah, it was actually my choice."

"I do not like the way it makes you smell."

"I don't either."

"You are…different," Starfire said. "Even from when we last saw each other in Gotham…"

"So are you. Being different isn't bad."

"Why did you not return to us?"

"You guys have your own problems to deal with."

Dick looked at the cigarette and grimaced. Even now he was disgusted with himself. The circus people all smoked too, and none of them tried to stop him except for, at times, Mr. Haley. They had gotten him back in the habit. Dick tossed the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his heel. "Besides, I wanted to see people I haven't seen in a while."

"Did you have a good time with the circus?"

"I guess. I scooped up a lot of poop."

"Do you feel better?"

"I still don't feel quite like myself." It would take a long time for him to feel anywhere close to normal. "I'm sorry. That's why I didn't want to be with you guys…after Bane…after Gotham…."

"Has Slade attempted to contact you?"

"That shit won't contact me." The venom in his voice surprised even himself. "Sorry. That was uncalled for."

"Do not apologize. You are not a bad person for what you've done," Starfire said. "The guilt will only make you feel worse."

"Isn't that a good thing, though?" Dick asked. "To feel guilt? I don't want to forget killing people. It would insult their memories." He paused, a knot tightening in his chest. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"We don't have to."

She took his hand gently, as though she expected him to refuse her affection. "Would you like to help me? Until the dinner is ready?"

"I'm going to throw this out," Dick said, looking at his cigarette butt. "I'll meet you upstairs."

In the few seconds the other Titans had before Dick made his way upstairs to the main room, the Titans held a micro-meeting. They knew Dick was coming to visit after Dick called them from Denver, and made the appropriate arrangements.

Raven was the one who had answered the phone. It was good to know that he bothered to call at all, and trusted them enough to want to talk to them. He sounded tired, but much more animated than he had been last time she had seen him. Raven thought it would be nice to hang out for a bit, but (to her inevitable disapproval) everyone else wanted to throw him a party.

"He'll appreciate a birthday party," Beast Boy said. "Everyone appreciates a good birthday party!"

"I don't appreciate birthday parties," Raven replied.

"Well, that's you." Beast Boy made a face at her. "Every party has a pooper—"

Raven was about to unleash all manner of Lovecraftian horrors upon him when Dick walked into the main room with Starfire following.

"What's this?" He pulled at one of the balloons, as though he had never seen one before. "Is it someone's birthday?"

"It's for you," Beast Boy said, throwing his arms up in excitement. "Happy Birthday!"

"My birthday was two months ago."

"Yeah, but did you party with us?" Beast Boy asked.

"Well, no."

"Then it didn't happen."

"Is a party ok, man?" Cyborg asked. "We don't have to have one."

Dick shook his head, trying to shake a memory away. "Birthday party is good. I guess."

Raven could sense Dick's uneasiness, probably brought on by the sudden focus on him. The others could be fooled by his smile, but it was an uncertain smile. He didn't want to say no, and maybe he didn't feel like he had any way out. She also noticed that he still smelled slightly of smoke. At the moment it would be best not to mention that. He would struggle with that for a while.

"If you don't want to celebrate anything you don't have to," Raven said.

"No, no, it's fine. I just haven't celebrated my birthday in a while. Not like there's much to celebrate anymore."

Starfire coaxed Dick into sitting down at the table, though Raven couldn't tell if that relieved some of his anxiety or not.

"Close your eyes," Starfire said. "I have something for you."

Starfire flew away, and a few seconds later came back with a crown of meat. Raven's eyes widened. She thought Starfire had been joking.

"Star—" Raven began.

Before Raven could finish, Starfire had already set the thing on Dick's head. He flinched slightly, but then relaxed when he realized that Starfire had put something there.

"What's this?"

"It is the Tamaranean meat crown for the day of your birth!"

Dick touched the crown. For a moment Raven couldn't read him. Then he laughed so hard that bits of meat fell off his head and onto his shirt.

"What?" Starfire asked. "Is something the matter?"

"No," Dick replied. "It's just…a crown of meat? I've never heard of that Tamaranean tradition before."

"Tamaran is a large planet full of many different customs," Starfire replied. "This is one from the capital province."

"I'd like to go there sometime. Sounds like an interesting place. Is this actually meat?"

"It's ground beef, dude." Cyborg entered the room. "We're making burgers out of it later."

"I can't wait to taste your cooking again," Dick said. "Burgers sound awesome."

The Titans looked at one another. They weren't sure how Dick would take a party, as they hadn't seen him in a while, but it seemed as though his cross-country trip had improved his mood.

For a moment Raven felt like they were teenagers again, and that they all had the youthful exuberance of the past. Then she realized that they didn't need to try to relive the past. Nothing good would come out of that. Instead of recreating the past, they needed to go forward and create new memories.

Dick smiled.


	28. A Breath of Fresh Air

_"Where are you going?_

_Where are you going?_

_Can you take me with you?_

_For my hand is cold, and needs warmth_

_Where are you going?"_

_"By My Side,"_ Godspell

* * *

 

For once it was a clear sunny day in Gotham. Bruce took the opportunity to sit out in the gardens at the Manor, enjoying the sunshine and the fresh air.

Bruce's condition hadn't improved in the past two months. As Dick had been recovering, so had Bruce, in his own way. No one was Batman, and for now that was all right. Every so often Bruce felt a tinge of anxiety that something would happen in Gotham, and that the villains would take over while no Batman was present, but the city had reached a stage of stagnation. For now, things were quiet.

If anything, Bruce felt guilty that his condition contributed to Dick's anxiety. But as the weeks passed, and Bruce watched Dick struggle to get back on his feet, he realized that his condition wasn't detrimental. In fact, he found that he could emphasize with Dick more than he thought he would be able to. Perhaps, sitting in this wheelchair, Bruce appeared less intimidating than usual. Broken. Human, of all things. Recovery was something they would go through together.

"Sir, I just received a call from Jump City," Alfred said. "Dick got to his friends safely."

"Thank you for letting me know, Alfred." Bruce sighed, breathing in the fresh air. It was nice not being in the Batcave. "I'm glad he's spending time with them."

"As am I, Sir." Alfred stood by Bruce, looking at the flowers Bruce was looking at. "I haven't seen you this relaxed in years. Thinking of early retirement?"

"I don't think so. There's a lot I could do. I'll be looking for a way out of this wheelchair, definitely, but it's not the end of the world if I never walk again. I've already made my peace with that."

"Do you believe Dick has?"

"I think so. I think he's realized that what happened to me wasn't his fault, and that he has more important things to worry about."

Getting Dick out of his shock was the most important thing, and considering how many mistakes Bruce had made, he supposed that things were going all right. Not great, never great, but better than he expected.

"I can't be Batman so long as I'm like this," Bruce said. "And Dick has to find himself again before he can do anything else."

"I'm worried about him," Alfred said. "Killing people changed him."

"I am too. It changes everyone." Bruce was certain he had inadvertently killed people during his run as Batman, and even though he hardly ever mentioned it they haunted him.

"Slade made him kill people. It was only natural that Dick eventually turned to kill him." Bruce hated saying it, but it was true. "I know most of who he killed. Slade at least took the liberty of choosing criminals as Dick's victims."

Slade was, Bruce grudgingly admitted, a clever man. He knew what he had to do to manipulate Dick, and Bruce could even see the arguments Slade could have made to convince Dick to kill people. And yet, even as Bruce followed Dick's spiral with despair, he also saw how Dick tried to do good in an impossible situation. Slade wasn't so heartless that he didn't stop Dick from abandoning children or innocent bystanders in a dangerous situation, and it was these trembling witnesses that left a trail for Bruce to follow. Bruce knew all this because he knew that he was capable of that kind of manipulation, and he hated himself for it.

"What are you trying to say? That the killings were justified?"

"No, Alfred. They aren't. What I'm trying to say is that Dick wasn't killing innocents. That can be a starting point for him."

"I see."

If Dick could remember what good he managed to do, and how this all started because he wanted to protect his friends, then perhaps he could find some peace of mind. And someday, so would Bruce.

* * *

 

It was with great hesitance that he walked alone through Jump City towards a hole-in-the-wall café that Dick was only vaguely familiar with.

Spending time with the Titans was less draining than it had been two months ago, but he still felt a great need to be by himself. Being alone had been a way of life for so long that the loneliness was comfortable.

Dick stopped outside the café and stared at Slade through the window. He couldn't tell if this was a terrible decision or not. But he knew that he had to finish things with Slade, and if he didn't make things were really over things would be complicated. After collecting his thoughts and taking a deep breath, Dick stepped inside.

"I'm surprised you called," Slade, looking up from his phone. "I thought you'd be spending time with the Titans, or whatever it is you do nowadays."

Everything about this was so familiar. Slade sitting there so nonchalant, having already ordered a cup of coffee for Dick, waiting for him to sit down.

"Thanks, but I'll get my own."

"You're going to waste a whole cup?"

"Stop it." Dick sat down and decided not to order anything. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

"Are we done?" Dick asked. "With…all of this?" Dick gestured aimlessly at Slade, not sure how to phrase his question.

Slade flipped his phone over and over, continuing to stare at Dick with his good eye. "You mean the apprenticeship."

"What else do I mean?"

"You don't have to play around with words. Just say it straight up. And anyway, a phone call would have sufficed."

"I'm not going to let you hide behind a phone." Slade wasn't the kind of person who disliked confrontation, but he only disliked confrontation when he didn't have the advantage. He knew that the Titans were only a phone call away. "I'm not going to stay long, anyway."

"Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

"Why did you save me from Bane?"

"The same reason why I pulled you back onto the rooftop in Jump," Slade replied. "We've worked together for so long that I'd hate to see you go like that."

Dick couldn't believe that he felt the same way. His emotions came in waves, and some days he felt like murdering Slade, while other days he felt that it was impossible. Right now, it felt impossible to do anything about Slade.

"Good." Dick threw some change on the table. "I'm done. We're done. I don't ever want to see you again."

"In our line of work it would be hard not to."

"You think I'm going back to your business? Or even my former one?"

"I don't think you'll be able to help yourself. It's all you know how to do."

Dick furrowed his brow. He shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be talking to Slade, but he felt as though he needed to close this chapter on his life, or else it would haunt him forever.

"You just wanted someone to hang out with you. You just can't admit it." Dick looked away, tapping his finger on the coffee table. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You? Hurt me?"

"What are you, sad, Slade?" Dick threw his arms out. "You shouldn't have expected things to work out. It was never going to work. If I didn't want to work for you, then I wasn't going to do it my whole life."

"I think I realized that a couple years ago," Slade replied.

They sat in uneasy silence.

"What are you going to do now?" Dick asked.

"Go back to work, I suppose. Undo all that you did to destroy me." Slade shrugged. "It's all I know how to do."

"That's still no excuse for being a shitty person."

"I'm too old to change." Slade waved his hand dismissively. "Go on with your life, Dick. You don't need my permission."

"Don't say shit like that."

Slade held up a hand. "Let's not argue. There's nothing more I can teach you. Not if you don't want to learn."

"Wish you could have said that five years ago."

"What's done is done. Go back to the Titans. I won't stop you." Slade raised an eyebrow. "Nothing to say?"

"I'm done." Dick stood up. "If I ever catch you hurting someone else again, I'll kill you again."

"Understood."

"You don't understand. You're just saying that to placate me. But whatever. I'm leaving."

Dick turned and left, pushing open the door more forcefully than he should have.

A shiver ran down his spine as Dick realized why Slade had let him go so calmly. Slade had accomplished what he had gone out to achieve. With Slade's death, and by pretending to be Deathstroke, Dick had completed his apprenticeship. Even if Dick went back to the superhero business, there was no telling what he would do or how he would act.

The whole thing had come to its natural end. Even though Dick had killed Slade, their relationship had been spiraling down for years. As a young man, not a teenager, Dick could hold his own against Slade. It was only natural that Slade would train Dick so well that his demise was the only logical conclusion. In the end their parting was mutual, and perhaps inevitable.

Dick didn't know how to feel about that. He felt like they should leave on a different account, but he realized that he wouldn't have it any other way. As much as he hated Slade for all of the pain and suffering, Dick had never wanted Slade dead. If Slade had stayed dead, Dick didn't know if he could have lived with that.

* * *

 

Slade stayed to finish his coffee after Dick had left.

He had to admit that Dick looked a whole lot better than he had looked in the past year. While it was clear that he wasn't exercising as much as he should be, his temperament was a lot more agreeable. He didn't look so sickly anymore. Slade hadn't even realized that Dick looked sickly until they had spent some time away from each other.

Slade had to face the fact that Dick could be better off where he was now, and that he was no longer Dick's teacher.

If things had gone another way, then Slade would have considered going after Dick as his apprentice again. But, considering the fact that Dick had legitimately killed him, there was nothing to be done but step back and allow Dick to leave.

It was inevitable. Even a year ago Slade had realized that if Dick wanted to leave the villainous life, and if Slade didn't maneuver him correctly then he would have to let Dick leave. Of course, Slade had hoped that Dick wouldn't want to leave, but at this point Slade couldn't stop him. Even after all this time Slade had changed. If he tried to blackmail Dick he would murder Slade again. Slade's training had made sure of that.

Slade had trained his successor, and now Dick was out in the world. Aside from the fact that Slade could no longer control him, he had trained someone. Dick hadn't died in his battle with Bane. At the very least, Slade could say that Dick hadn't died yet, unlike Grant. This battle with Bane had proved that, despite the hiccups, Slade had given Dick the skills he needed to survive.

Even if Dick didn't want to admit it, he was a product of Slade's training, and would continue to be until the end of his days. He was a living, breathing example of what Slade could do, what Slade could have been. Dick would be out in the world, and through his actions he would be Slade's legacy, for better or for worse.

* * *

 

Dick's conversation with Slade left him in a bitter mood, though he wasn't as angry as he thought he'd be. He just felt drained, and when he thought about it he realized that he had always felt drained for the last five years.

Instead of going back into the Tower he puttered around the island base. He took out his box of cigarettes and chucked it into the ocean.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

Then again, he had done things he had never expected from himself. To defeat Slade he had to murder him. Even with Slade alive Dick wasn't certain he would ever get over that split-second decision to shoot Slade in the head.

"Dick? Is that you?"

Turning, he saw Starfire rounding around the corner. At that moment Dick was incredibly aware of himself, and how he appeared to the rest of the world. Everyone probably thought he was crazy.

When he looked at the world around him all he saw were the differences. Everyone else had grown older and wiser, more handsome and more beautiful, stronger and stronger, while he had wasted away.

"You are still here," Starfire said.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"Did you have a nice trip into town?"

He shrugged, not wanting to admit who he had gone to see. "Jump's still full of bad memories for me."

"I see. If you wish, one of us could accompany you to the mall of shopping."

"That's OK." He ran a hand through his hair, wondering what to say to her. "I needed some time for myself."

"Are you certain that you are all right?"

If all he saw were the differences, and how the world had changed while he was away, then what did she see in him? He didn't want her to see his uncontrolled self, didn't want her to really know how he had killed people, and he felt like he could lose control at any second.

"Composed, sure," he replied, "but not all right."

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

"Not really." He glanced at her dirty clothes. "Gardening again?"

"Yes."

"I think I'll help you this time." Dick knelt to look at what she was doing. "Can you show me?"

He followed her back to her little vegetable patch, where flats of seedlings sat next to the wooden vegetable beds.

"I don't know anything about gardening," Dick said.

"Do not worry, I knew nothing as well. I learned."

"Well, I just moved the seedlings outside now that that the earth has warmed, and must transplant to the vegetable box." She took off her gloves and eased one of the seedlings from its box. "Take them out gently, and then massage the roots before placing them in the new soil. This will ease their transition into a new environment."

Dick dug his hands into the cool, wet earth. Like scooping the elephant poop, it felt good to do something with his hands. The work gave him something good to do, and at least he was doing something.

"Look at this one," he said, pulling out a seedling thick with roots. "It's tangled."

"It was not allowed to grow," Starfire replied, taking it from him. "It was too big for its pot, and it has become rootbound. You must be gentler when untangling the rootball. Now it is stressed, but in time it will grow."

He watched her work. There was a glow about her, an obvious happiness that was infectious. Working in the garden was something he had never expected to do, and then again he hadn't expected to do a lot of things in life.

"I'm not very good at this."

"You're doing fine."

"Maybe I'll be like Poison Ivy," Dick said. "Unnaturally good with plants. Maybe we'll join forces and I'll be one hammy villain."

Starfire smiled at him. "I am glad you came back."

"Me too."

She placed her hand over his and guided him. This simple touch, feeling her close warmth, soothed him more than anything. They looked at each other, their breath puffing out in white clouds in the early morning air. Yet again, Dick found himself doing something unexpected, something he hadn't expected from himself.

Killing people was something he had never thought himself capable of doing, but it had happened. After everything that had happened he felt surprised by nothing, but maybe, just maybe, he could still surprise himself.

He looked back up at the sky. It wouldn't rain today, but it would rain someday. Dark bags still hung under his eyes, and he had lost a bit of weight over the past two months. Something about not eating and not exercising as much as he used to.

"Do you plan to stay here long?" Starfire asked.

"As long as I need to."

"Would you like to help me? We have a lot of work to do." Starfire gestured to the rest of the raised beds. "Can you fix them? Perhaps build me a coop of the chickens?"

"You want chickens?"

She laughed. "It is not necessary. I am only doing the teasing."

"I don't guarantee that I'll build a very good chicken coop."

"I'm certain it shall be wonderful."

Dick smiled.

Perhaps Dick had to stop thinking about legacies. He was so certain that he'd fail someone that he didn't think about himself. Becoming Batman. Becoming Deathstroke. Those were not important. And then he had thought that, maybe, he could go back to the trapezes, just to be a Grayson once again.

But whether or not he could perform a quadruple flip, he was still a Grayson. His parents wouldn't have scolded him. They would have understood. He didn't need a legacy to be happy. He only needed his friends and what family he had made for himself. That, in itself, was the only legacy he ever needed.

Being only a shadow of his former self made him feel as though he could never go back to who he used to be. Maybe he couldn't, but he could try. Like the seeds they were planting, recovering would take time to grow.

It would take some time to rid himself of these toxic thoughts. His friends would be there for him, and slowly he would wash the blood off his hands.

He didn't know where he was going, and maybe for now that was for the best. If circumstances had been different, maybe he would have become something else, a hero disconnected from Batman and Slade. He had thought that that was something he wanted to do. But now he felt different. He just needed to find himself again.

With time, all would be well.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this fic! I enjoyed sharing it with you all here on Ao3. :) 
> 
> For those who haven't commented, I would love it if you could leave a review on this last chapter. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, and if you didn't like something please leave some thoughtful criticism so I can improve my writing. 
> 
> A couple of announcements: 
> 
> 1) As I am in the process of moving my fics over here from FF, I will begin posting one of my last big fics that haven't made it to Ao3 yet ("In Too Deep") this upcoming week.  
> 2) For those keeping up with "Infiltration" on FF, an update is coming! You know how crazy things have been for me, so your patience is appreciated.  
> Thank you again for reading and reviewing! 
> 
> -Hanna Sedai


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